The Nemesis
by ficscribbler
Summary: Out of the past comes a mysterious foe that has a secret weapon, enabling him to threaten the Challenger Expedition; can the explorers figure out what's happening before it's too late?


**The Nemesis **

Summary: O_ut of the past comes a mysterious foe that has a secret weapon, enabling him to threaten the Challenger Expedition; can the explorers figure out what's happening before it's too late?_

Disclaimer: _The Lost World does not belong to me. *sigh of regret* It belongs to The Over The Hill Gang, Coote/Hayes, New Line Television, et al, …_

Author Note:_ This __story__ takes place before Season 3's HoTS has happened - but shifting planes of reality have allowed Ned to be safely home at the Treehouse again for this fanfic__.  
_

* * *

**Prologue: early 1919**

Professors Arthur Summerlee and George Challenger stood at the ship's rail, watching as the shore slipped further and further away. "Well, Summerlee, the nonsense is finally behind us, and we are on our way," the younger, lean, red-haired man with sharp blue eyes and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard observed to his older companion with obvious satisfaction. "Now we shall see who is right and who is deluded among us!" he practically rubbed his hands with glee as he made this smug self-assured pronouncement. He had been almost rude to the press, barely tolerating the intrusion into his plans to depart in a well-organized fashion. Such botheration! Why, he hadn't even allowed his beloved Jessie to come down to the docks; such a foolish waste of energy and time, all this folderol about departures!

It was with pleasure that he turned away from the rails and the familiar coastline to head toward the main storage hold so he could check on his boxes and materials. He had the suspicion that things had not been stowed correctly. Best to check it himself, so he could adjust the arrangements if necessary. He walked away purposefully, clearly already focused on his goal and not even bothering with the formality of taking leave of his fellow adventurers.

Used to his companion's abrasive personality and lack of proprieties, Summerlee only sighed heavily. The trip was likely to be full of such slights. He shifted his weight with a wince, trying to ease the dull ache on his bad leg, and once again wondered what he had let himself in for when he had yielded to the goading of a respected fellow Society member and accepted Challenger's ridiculous proposition. _Oh, the follies of pride!_ But he had agreed to represent the Society, and he was a man of his word. He would follow through with this, for the sake of proving the truth - that George Edward Challenger was the worst kind of scientist, a sensationalist who wouldn't know good science if it was spoon-fed to him!

At least there had been plenty of press coverage, the balding white-haired gentleman mused to himself as he noted the flashbulbs still occasionally popping on the docks from which they had launched. When they returned Challenger would have to eat his words in very public style, given the grand send off that had been occasioned by all the publicity from the young reporter's newspaper and its rivals. Summerlee stroked his own snowy beard thoughtfully, adjusted his spectacles and glanced to his left where two of the other members of the Expedition still stood. He shook his head, sighed again, and turned away from the rail to find his cabin and take a much-needed rest.

He passed the American, Edward Malone, giving him a polite nod of recognition. Brash young lad, too keen on adventure to be a safe companion, but at least the boy seemed open minded about this prehistoric world business. He was not allowing himself to be swayed by Challenger's admittedly fascinating rhetoric. Summerlee suspected they might find the sturdy young gentleman to be every bit as handy as the world-renowned hunter standing a few yards beyond the blond-headed Yankee. The senior member of the Expedition sighed to himself once again with resignation as he took note of Malone's uncovered wind-ruffled hair; the lad had yet to prove he owned a hat of any kind. Americans had such slip-shod manners, and were far too careless with matters of proper wardrobe.

The 'mannerless' youngest member of the Challenger Expedition pulled his pale blue eyes from the shoreline - and the lovely young lady he was hoping to impress through his membership in this entourage - to acknowledge Summerlee's leave-taking. But his attention was almost immediately caught by activity on a lower deck, and his reply was a mere mumble as he leaned over the railing again. He watched with increasingly absorbed interest as crewmen on a lower deck worked busily at securing the luxury liner's steady progress now that she was out of the harbor and into deeper, less congested waters. He really should go down and talk to those fellows; he had questions about the running of this ship that was carrying him away from his editor's daughter and into heroic deeds that would win her heart and hand for him.

The last time Ned had crossed the Atlantic had definitely not been on a ship like this one, which was the second largest of the current post-war Cunard Line, and he was fascinated by the hubbub of activity that swirled everywhere he looked. It would make a good sideline to his Expedition story if he could bring forth the realities and the drama involved in maintaining this method of transportation. It might also draw advertising money since such a story would promote the cruise ships in the paper, something that would please Gladys's father. With eager purposeful steps, Ned headed for the nearest companionway to the lower deck.

Lord John Roxton's keen hazel eyes followed his movements. "Where are you off to, Malone?" asked the tall aristocrat as Ned brushed past him.

"To talk to the crew. I'll see you at dinner," Ned Malone tossed over his shoulder with a grin.

Roxton nodded as he watched the younger man's hasty progress with tolerant amusement. The lad was insatiably curious and would be an entertaining companion on this expedition. Never one to leave things to chance if he could help it, the world famous hunter and adventurer had done some quiet checking and learned that the young American had acquitted himself well enough in the late war. Roxton had learned to be a good judge of character - a necessity when one habitually shared dangerous quests with other men. Malone was still a tad inexperienced; there was no doubt about it.

But traveling with Challenger and Summerlee - and having the benefit of some tutelage from Roxton - would most likely provide the young reporter with all the seasoning required for maturing him into a capital adventurer. Yes, the experienced survivalist had no doubt that Ned Malone had the potential to become a first class fellow who could be trusted to help protect the group instead of simply observing them.

The British nobleman let his eyes move casually over the other passengers now beginning to gravitate away from the railings, until he found the person he was seeking. Ah, yes, there she was: the mysterious benefactress of the Expedition. She was reclining on a lounge chair already, seeming perfectly familiar and at ease with the comforts offered by the Cunard Line to their passengers. She had not joined the others at the railing. Roxton had watched her surreptitiously, and it had not seemed that there was anyone present to see her off on this arduous journey. She appeared to be indifferent to the attention from the press or the excitement of her fellow passengers, and had devoted herself to reading a book instead of watching the coast of Britain recede from view.

She was a cool one, unquestionably. As cool and canny a woman as he had ever met, and utterly beautiful. And, he reminded himself grimly, an unknown quantity in this small group. He had been unable to learn a single concrete fact about Miss Marguerite Krux. The woman was surrounded by rumors and rumors of rumors - but very few facts that he could ascertain.

She was said to be a wealthy heiress, but no one could tell him where the inheritance had come from, or how large it was. Nor could he learn from which institution she had drawn the "not limited" funds she had indeed made available to the Expedition by bond, as she had promised. She moved freely among the best of society, yet in a land where pedigree was recorded, discussed, examined, touted and recited by heart back through generations to the very beginnings of the country, he had found no record of her in England. Moreover, there had been no knowledge amongst his heritage-mad acquaintances of any notable Krux family anywhere on the continent, either. And her accent . . . just where she was from he could not pinpoint. She was educated and refined, dressed perfectly and moved gracefully, could converse intelligently - but he somehow felt that beneath that cool self-assurance lived a fire-breathing termagant of whom he should be wary. Worst of all, he kept getting the distinct impression that she was laughing at him from behind that cool façade.

As if she sensed his regard, she glanced up from her book, her wide changeable eyes ( green in the bright sunlight, he noted with interest, though they had seemed to be blue in the dimmer light of Challenger's study ) meeting his instantly. She did not blush or look away as most ladies would have, she merely held his gaze for a long moment, quirking a fine brow at him in gentle mockery. Oh, she knew that he was watching her, all right.

Roxton straightened, stepped away from the railing, and strode toward the puzzling woman. "Your family did not come to see you off, Miss Krux?" he asked politely, as an opening gambit.

It gained him no information. "Obviously not," she replied simply, distantly.

"I trust you found your accommodations adequate?"

"Perfectly," she replied evenly, with a glance down at the tome opened on her lap and just a hint of a sigh to let him know she would rather be reading her book than talking with him. She looked back up as he remained standing there. Not obvious enough for the handsome nobleman? Well then, she could be much clearer; Marguerite arched her fine brows in delicate annoyance. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else doing something important right now, like checking your guns or… something?" she drawled with just a bit of acid in her dulcet tone to make her brush-off unmistakable.

He stiffened. Lord Roxton was unused to being treated like this. His title, fortune, handsome features and reputation had always guaranteed him respect and admiration. He bowed his dark head to her, tipping his hat, and turned away abruptly, taken aback enough that he forgot to take verbal leave of her. His stride as he stalked away held her appreciative gaze . . . and that of a number of other women, she noted in amusement. He fairly exuded the natural power and rhythm of well-honed muscle and perfectly mastered self-control. Marguerite smothered a grin when one pretty young female actually sighed aloud at the sight of the man as he was passing by her.

Marguerite watched until the tall handsome nobleman was out of sight, then took a deep but discreetly steady breath to relax herself. The man's eyes saw far too much. His watchful suspicion was going to make this trip more difficult than it already was, not that she hadn't handled such games before now. She had hoped that just this once her objective could be reached without having to battle not only the odds but also some relatively innocent bystander who didn't even know the game and its stakes. But Lord Roxton's curiosity was not going to be forestalled easily. She could see why he was acclaimed so widely as an expert hunter… but she had no intention of becoming his prey. It was not good that he should persist in asking questions and studying her so intently when she had taken such care with her behavior. She had done nothing to provoke this unwanted attention from him - well, not since she had placed that shot between his legs so tidily at that first group meeting in Challenger's study.

A smile played about her lips as she recalled the satisfaction of wiping the smug look from his handsome visage with that one impulsive act. The moment their eyes had first met she had felt a frisson of - _something_ - an alarm that had set every nerve to screaming "danger" in a way she hadn't experienced since the war had ended. She had long ago learned to listen to her finely honed instincts. Lord John Roxton was not a man she should underestimate. She probably shouldn't have shown off with his rifle as she had; it had given away a skill that she usually kept hidden unless needed… and besides, exhibiting her level of skill in front of the group like that had only piqued his stalking instincts. But there was something about the man that simply provoked her.

She would have to handle him with more care, and resist any further urge to prove herself. Of the four men on the Expedition, Lord John Richard Roxton was the one who would most likely prove to be a stumbling block to her plans. She could let _nothing_ stand in her way. Nor could she allow him to consume her thoughts. Life had been complex enough recently, with German assassins popping up too close for comfort just when she had begun to think the last of the war repercussions were safely in the past – not to mention the likelihood that an Oriental henchman or two might be closing in as well. But she had made the travel plans for Challenger's group with just such details in mind. There would be no surprises during this journey toward answers she had longed for all her life.

However, there was undoubtedly much danger ahead along the way to the mysterious plateau, and then in attaining her object on the plateau itself. So this Atlantic crossing, and the subsequent transfer to another carefully chosen ship that would carry the Expedition to South America, would be the last time for who knew how long that she would have opportunity to relax and enjoy pampering herself, a rare opportunity in her always-complicated life. She intended to make the most of it, regardless of Lord John Roxton's presence. Disciplining her mind sternly, she focused on reading her book again.

Back ashore, the crowd on the pier was still so thick that no one paid any particular attention to the well-dressed but travel-stained man pushing through to the front edge of the human mass along the waterside. So many people were here to see off friends and family that one more made little difference.

This man was not like the others though; he was not waving sorrowfully to the people who were now only tiny dots along the ship's railings, or laughing in delight at the anticipated excitement of the voyage for family or friends. Nor was he a member of the vast army of press personages who had come to record the doings of the fashionable or the notable among the passengers sailing on the vessel that had already pulled away. Instead, if anyone had been paying enough attention to notice, his light brown eyes were grimly irate beyond his spectacles, and his large fists were clenched in fierce anger that he had been so close, and yet had missed catching his prey yet again! It was as if some curse prevented him from accomplishing his goal. To have come so near to being able to exact retribution for the damage done him in the time before the war was simply infuriating!

He had lost ground while the Great War raged across Europe, keeping him from proper pursuit. In fact, he had nearly resigned himself to giving up on ever regaining the trail he had followed so painstakingly only to lose it with seeming finality in Vienna. It had been almost a complete year since he had heard even a rumor that could be useful in his search.

Then, mere days ago, his luck had changed, granting him a sighting of his target again - of all places, on the front page of a newspaper in France when the details of an infamous expedition made headlines. It was a fool's errand, obviously - such a nonsensical theory! But the photographs of the Expedition members had captured his jaded eye. It took him three careful looks before he could believe the evidence so plainly presented in the clear pictures and their captions. He had felt a surge of elation; he could not fail now! That very hour he had set out for London, using every connection he could muster to make all speed for the capital city and the nearby port from which the Expedition would depart.

Just a few minutes earlier, and he might have achieved his goal!

He watched the departing ship with narrowed eyes, grinding his teeth in frustrated fury. This was NOT the end! Escape would not be so easy, not this time! He had no intention of allowing the object of his ire to slip away now, after searching across half of Europe throughout the Great War, always finding himself a half dozen steps behind. This was the closest he had come in far too long, and he would not rest now. He glanced down at the newspaper that stuck out of his jacket pocket. No, he knew their destination… he could catch up to them. Just as well to deal with this in the wilds of the jungle where no one would question disappearances.

It would take a little time to gather the resources and the necessary information to find this plateau. A man of lesser determination and resources wouldn't be able to do it - but he fully intended to follow the Expedition. It had to be fate that the group included the people it did, although he never would have anticipated them being so conveniently together. He would be able to deal with each of them. Yes, fate was obviously on his side now, giving him an unlooked for opportunity here.

Slowly he smiled as the possibilities began to dawn on him. His eyes gleamed darkly with an unholy light, and his broad powerful shoulders began to shake with suppressed laughter as he watched the majestic ship now moving away under increasing steam. Oh yes, he would catch up to them, whatever it might take - and once he did more than one old score would be settled, or his name was not Helmut Hoffner!

**About four years later . . .**

Lord John Roxton dropped his armload of kindling into the wood box near the treehouse oven, and turned to pour himself a tall glass of chilled water to quench the thirst he had worked up. He poured another glass and gulped that down as well. The third glass of cool liquid he unceremoniously dumped over his head. Grinning in relief at the refreshing sensation, he shook the excess water from his head and combed his fingers through his short, slightly curling hair. It was bloody hot out there today!

Then his smile vanished. He set the glass down on the counter with a thud. Grim-faced, he turned sharply to stalk down the stairs in search of the slender brunette who had _not_ returned with his drink as she had assured him she would when she left him chopping the wood well over an hour ago. He had put off coming up to get it himself, hoping against hope that his beautiful lady would not disappoint him. But every time he'd nearly decided that she had changed completely, she would exhibit this same old selfish, self-centeredness again! This time, he decided, scowling darkly as he reached the lower level of the Treehouse and strode purposefully down the hall, this time he was going to call her on it!

She would be in her room, of course. He'd probably find her stretched out comfortably on her bed with a book, enjoying the faint breeze wafting through her window, having totally forgotten -

He stopped mid-way down the curving hall to her bedroom, arrested by a glimpse of movement in his own room. The lean aristocrat took a step nearer his doorway… and stood frozen, staring in stunned bemusement.

Marguerite was deftly making up his bed with freshly cleaned linens, snapping the sheets into place with a practiced crisp movement full of energy. There was ample evidence to prove that she had been hard at work cleaning ever since he had last seen her. Stray strands of her dark curls clung to the previously-impeccable former heiress's glistening heat-flushed skin, despite the way she had pulled her long thick hair up into the high ponytail. Her slender curves were hugged by her sweat-dampened lavender blouse as she worked to make his room as welcoming and comfortable as possible for the afternoon rest from the midday sauna-like heat, a practice Veronica insisted on during tropical heat waves like the one currently gripping the plateau.

Roxton's usually somewhat haphazardly piled clothes were neatly folded and stacked on his shelves, his desk straightened, even his bare plank floor gleamed from a recent scrubbing to cut down on the dust that had been tracked in over the last week. There was a streak of that persistent dust marring her brow where she had rubbed away perspiration while down on her knees with the scrub cloth - an onerous chore further evidenced by the dirty wet marks on her favorite skirt. Marguerite Krux had been down on her knees scrubbing his floor!

Marguerite was humming happily with a contented gleam in her green eyes as she fluffed his pillow and settled it at the head of his bed, finished with her hasty but thorough labor of love on John's behalf. She turned toward the door with a satisfied smile, then gave a yelp of alarm and took a quick step backwards at finding his broad-shouldered frame filling the doorway. "John! Don't _do_ that!" she protested as one hand fluttered up to settle over her pounding heart, annoyed at being caught unaware, and wide-eyed as she tried to catch her breath.

"Sorry, my dear," he apologized softly, stepping further into his room, noting that she had also cleaned the dust from his hat and boots as well as oiling his gun holsters, which were now all returned to their proper places. "What is all this?" he gestured around his freshened chamber.

She dipped her head a little, flushing because she had planned to _not _be here when he first saw her handiwork. "Oh, it's nothing… your room just needed to be cleaned." She shrugged, embarrassed at being found out - for of course he must have seen that she was enjoying doing this for him - and self-consciously aware of her bedraggled state. She picked up the bucket of used, dirty water and the small bundle of grimy cleaning cloths she had used. "Are you finished all that firewood already?" she asked brightly, not quite meeting his eyes as she started to sidle by him.

"Yes. Marguerite," the handsome hunter's firm hand on her shoulder stopped her escape. "I think we could both use a quick swim at the water hole before lunch to cool off after our hard work. What do you think? Would you care to join me?" She might have forgotten to bring his water, but she had clearly taken note that he had been too busy helping Challenger with the lab this morning to clean his own room in the early morning's cooler hours when the others had been doing their bedrooms. She couldn't have known the fastidious nobleman was dreading having to choose between taking his rest in his unkempt room or doggedly doing his delayed housekeeping chores during the hot midday in lieu of resting - could she?

She glanced up to meet his eyes cautiously. She was never entirely sure, even now that they had all been together so long, if her attempts to please the others would meet with success - or with their rueful resignation at being the unfortunate object of her apparently-misguided efforts. But there was tender appreciation in the twinkling hazel-tinted green eyes, not impatience, frustration, or mockery. She relaxed in relief and gave him an almost shy smile. "I would like that, yes."

"Here, let me take those for you," he reached for the bucket and the rags. "I'll put them away. You go gather your things, and I'll meet you by the elevator in a couple minutes."

Marguerite's sunny smile rewarded his tactful offer as she yielded up her work 'tools' and slipped off to her own room. He congratulated himself on having had the restraint not to bellow her name as he came down the steps in search of her, now that he knew what she had been up to while she had NOT been bringing his water. A moment later Roxton was even more thankful for his self-control when Finn bounced down the stairs with another batch of clean sheets and gasped at the sight of the tall hunter, skidding to a halt with an appalled look up at him.

At his inquisitive look the young girl from the future grimaced. "I totally forgot! Marguerite asked me to take you a glass and a pitcher of water while she was cleaning up your room! I'm so sorry, Roxton!"

He grinned. "No problem, Finn," he assured her cheerfully, thrilled to have this further confirmation that his lady had indeed cared about his comfort. He ruffled Finn's tousled blonde hair affectionately. "I came up and fetched it for myself."

She grinned, relieved, but cast an anxious look over his broad shoulders into his bedroom, then towards Marguerite's room when she realized the brunette had finished cleaning. Her voice dropped to a shielded whisper. "Don't tell Marguerite, okay? She'll be a lot madder than you."

"Our secret," he promised with a conspiratory chuckle. It seemed he was destined to keep secrets for his female companions, he mused.

Finn nodded, gave him a thankful smile, and resumed her dash down the hall with her armful of bedding linen for Malone's room. Where the girl found such energy all the time - especially in the current heat wave - was a constant source of amazement to her older friends.

Wow, it was a good thing he hadn't yelled at Marguerite! Roxton shook his head at his own folly. He should have known that Marguerite wouldn't forget he was in need of liquids on a hot day like today. The heat must be affecting his thinking. She wouldn't have forgotten a survival-dependent detail like that even when they had first come to the plateau. She would probably have pretended that she only cared because the health of the others was essential for her own survival, but she would still have cared beneath that icy façade she had habitually worn in those days. She couldn't have been Parsifal without caring, though she'd had to hide it even from herself.

Contritely, he purposed to make amends for his near _faux pas_ by making certain his lady had a _very_ enjoyable time at the pond.

*****

Hoffner's cold, hard brown eyes were glittering in cold satisfaction as he stalked away from yet another primitive village. This time he had finally found a hint of where to find his quarry! It had taken far longer than he had expected to trace the Challenger Expedition to this plateau. He had spent more than an entire year trying one Amazonian tributary after another to locate where they had finally left the river and set off on foot over land. From that point there had been a trail he could track without too much trouble, despite the lapsed time – right up to the foot of the strange plateau, shrouded in its misty clouds. Then it had taken even longer to actually find a way to get up onto the geological phenomenon - but he had done it!

During his long search for a way of getting onto the plateau he had traveled the entire circumference of this bloody plateau more times than he cared to remember. A single circuit took six long days of pressing hard through the Amazonian jungle around its base, roughly 130 miles in total. Despite covering this ground well over a dozen times, he had never seen any sign that the members of the Expedition had come back down, not even a whisper of a rumor in the tales of the natives living so tenuously around the base of the strange plateau. So he had known his targets had to still be up here, even after two years had passed - probably doing some ridiculously detailed and time-consuming scientific study, given George Edward Challenger's absurd standards.

It took only simple arithmetic to calculate that the plateau encompassed approximately 1450 square miles of land. On an area that should have ranked only slightly larger than Rhode Island, the smallest state of the United States - a mere speck of land, all things considered - locating the Expedition should have been the easiest part of his task once he had actually gotten to the top.

But gradually Hoffner's triumph and expectations of finally achieving his revenge had been overcome by frustration. He had been up on this unbelievable rock for months and had found barely any sign of the Challenger Expedition until now. Dinosaurs, yes, and ape men, and all sorts of tribes that would have made eyes pop back in the scientific circles of Europe - but not the Expedition he was seeking. The plateau seemed to be inexplicably larger than he had calculated. Something odd was happening here… it was as if the plateau itself was conspiring to keep him from his goal, protecting the Challenger Expedition from his plans for them.

But nothing was going to keep Helmut Hoffner from exacting retribution! Not since he had stumbled across his secret weapon! No, he would have been a meal for a headhunter or a dinosaur months ago if he had not found that substance near the cleft in the cliff face where he had first scrambled up onto the plateau. It was this secret weapon that would enable him to survive this prehistoric land. The secret weapon would aid him in exacting his revenge - his fertile brain was full of ideas on just what havoc he would wreak once he finally located his victims.

And it was his secret weapon that was going to make him a fortune when he took it back to Europe with him once he had finished what he needed to do here. With his remarkable discovery, he reminded himself with smug self-satisfaction, no one would ever be able to mock Helmut Hoffner again.

Hoffner paused and looked around to confirm to himself exactly where he had already been and the direction in which he should march next. Yes, he was heading to the east where a native map drawn on some kind of semi-scaly animal skin had indicated a lake that might be a source of the rivers that flowed toward the outer edges of the plateau. This lake area was going to be a better focus for his search than his previously unfruitful concentration on centers of commerce.

He had found a couple villages where the names of the explorers had been known - he had enjoyed such a good laugh at overhearing one native witchdoctor do his conjuring as he chanted the word 'Challenger'! The pompous fool would have been revolted at the idea of magic being done in his name! But none of the small communities he had found so far had been frequented regularly by the Expedition members.

However, when Hoffner had seen that map in this last village Hoffner, he had been unable to shake the conviction that he had finally hit on the key to finding them. The Challenger group would need to center itself near a good source of water. That lake shown on the map was the place to head for now, especially given the handful of colorful scarves he had seen worn at the village. The Expedition's lone woman, mercenary-hearted to the core, had apparently packed plenty of the scraps of silk from China to trade with gullible natives, and the map had clearly indicated that this village's people traveled to trade in territory near the lake. So the area surrounding that lake was where he would find his prey.

Hoffner set off through the jungle again, keeping a careful eye on the sun to maintain direction, and shifting the cloth bag containing his newly obtained supplies so that it rested more easily over his shoulders. A sudden commotion in the village behind him told him that his appropriation of the supplies had finally been noticed. He smiled grimly. The hubbub resulting from his unnoticed visits were a constant source of satisfaction to him as he moved across the plateau. He was unworried about possible pursuit, having perfected his secret weapon over these last months. After all, he had total immunity from capture; what couldn't be seen couldn't be caught.

He was close, he just knew he was close now! He could feel it! The lake wasn't far away; he could possibly find them in just a few hours, but definitely within a matter of days this time. The explorers would never know what had hit them!

*****

Marguerite Krux floated pensively in the pond. A sudden splash nearby pulled her from her reverie, alerting her that John had joined her in the water. She smiled, knowing he would be at her side as soon as his smooth strokes could bring him to the center of their all-purpose body of water. Even though their little outing had turned into a family event instead of the private swim he had suggested, she had known he would find a way to come to her apart from the others.

Of course this was too public for any serious romancing. A pity, considering the alluring nature of the bathing costumes she and Veronica had sewn after seeing the ones worn by the family of visitors from the future - the Dillon family who had lived several decades earlier than Finn's devastated future. But even if physical romancing had to be off limits at the moment, none of the others would be within hearing distance of the couple if she and Roxton stayed here in the center of the pond. A little verbal flirting with her adorable beau would be nice; it would serve to lighten her mood.

"Penny for your thoughts," his low voice drawled a moment later near her ear, breath warm on her cool flesh as he positioned himself to float beside her.

She sent him an impish grin. "You'll have to do better than a penny, Lord Roxton," she scoffed.

Her handsome companion chuckled. "Rating yourself pretty highly, are you?" he teased. Then his smile faded as he noticed that her thick-lashed green eyes had gone somber. She shivered, though there wasn't even a breeze. "Marguerite? What is it?"

Marguerite hesitated for a moment, then changed position to tread water beside him. "It's… nothing. Really…" She frowned, examining his face. Finding only concern for her well-being, she went on, "It's only… well, have you ever had the feeling that things were _too_ good?"

He couldn't help the chortle of laughter that bubbled up. "Ever the pessimist," he joked.

She flushed a little with a look of reproach at her companion, and bit back her automatically defensive and sarcastic reply. Instead, she yielded to her desire to have him understand her instinctive unease and continued earnestly, "No, I mean it, John. I have this feeling…"

At the troubled look in her lovely face, he sobered and flipped over to tread water as well. "What kind of feeling? Is it a reincarnated Druid priestess premonition? A Parsifal intuition?" he asked, trying to keep it light yet show that he wasn't just carelessly shrugging off what she was attempting to share with him. She had been making tentative efforts to be more open with him since their experience in the cave, and he didn't want to discourage that.

Marguerite shrugged. "I don't know how to explain it." Her words were slow and thoughtful as she tried to find a way to describe it to this man who had captured her heart. "But it's served me well in the past, John, and I can't just discount it now. It's almost like… I can feel in the pit of my stomach that there's something bad coming. Something dangerous on the horizon, vaguely ominous…" She shrugged again, meeting his keen hazel eyes. "Do you know what I mean?"

"Not really," he admitted apologetically, "But that's okay, Marguerite. As I've told you before, you have an incredible instinct for self-preservation, and if you're worried about something then I want to know about it. Is it imminent? Do you want to go back to the treehouse now?"

She considered that carefully. "No-o-o, I don't think so," she decided slowly. "It's just that it's… almost… familiar. I think I should recognize this feeling." Her brow creased as she struggled to put her finger on the elusive quality of what was troubling her. "It's so close, John…"

"Okay. Well, I'm right here."

His soothing words and the reassuring hand that squeezed her nearly bare shoulder brought her eyes into focus on him again, and she had to smile. "Thank you, John," she whispered, touched at his belief in her intangible intuition, and grateful that this incredible man cared about her so much.

Mischief glinted in his eyes as he waggled his brows at her. "Oh, I can offer something much more pleasant, my dear," he suggested, voice deepening huskily.

"Why, Lord John Roxton," she responded immediately with a sly grin of her own, eyes lighting with affectionate amusement. "What are you proposing?"

With a quick motion, his hand moved from her shoulder to the top of her head, and before she had grasped what he was about he deftly dunked her. The former triple agent of the Great War came up sputtering but laughing at his trick. "You're going to pay for that, John Roxton!" she warned. She cupped her hand and sent a wall of water swooshing into his laughing face, as a first volley in the war.

"Water fight!" Finn yelled from the pond bank, and jumped into the water to join in the fun.

Challenger looked up from the journal he was writing in, and smiled widely as he realized what was beginning. Veronica and Ned exchanged grins, then dove off the rocks where they had been idly enjoying the shade. They swam over to join the lighthearted splash-fest with the others.

This was just the kind of day George Challenger liked. No threat to life or limb in sight, everyone healthy, no lack of food or medicinal supplies, and even time to relax for fun instead of resting only to recover from the heat they were forced to face each year at this time. He glanced at his timepiece, and was glad to see that there was still at least an hour until he should call a halt to the frolic in the pond so they could return to the Treehouse before darkness descended on their jungle home.

Spending the afternoon here at the pond instead of in the treehouse had been a good idea, though he was sure Marguerite and Roxton had initially been disappointed. The relaxed atmosphere and slightly cooler air here had lessened everyone's lethargy. Even he had stripped off boots and shirt and taken a turn floating in the water, much to the others' delight.

Challenger glanced down at the journal in his hands again. Hmm, he should have time enough to read another couple pages of Tom Layton's record of his study about these lines of power that crisscrossed the plateau. How fortunate that Veronica's returning memories of her parents had included the recollection that her father had once shown her where he kept his "special" study journals. This neat, precisely penned information just might be the key to finding the way off the plateau once Challenger merged his own data with that of the earlier scientists who had come with the Laytons when Tom brought Abigail home to the Lost World.

Half an hour later his concentration was broken when Roxton carried Finn over to the picnic blanket and set her down beside the red-haired eldest of the family. "What's this?" he asked in surprise, jerking upright. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," Finn protested, totally flustered by the gentleness with which the hunter had delivered her to their resident healer.

"No," Marguerite refuted firmly, right behind them. "It's not 'nothing'. She's cut her ankle against the rocks, George."

"Just a little cut," the young blonde muttered defensively as Roxton indicated the injured limb to Challenger. "No need for all this fuss!"

"Infections can set in quickly out here," Marguerite said softly. "Let Challenger take care of it, Finn."

The youngest girl sighed heavily, but resigned herself to being looked after. The scientist-cum-healer of their group was already taking the first aid kit from his backpack. "You're right, Finn, it doesn't look very bad," he soothed her with a warm smile. "This won't take long, I assure you. You can get back to playing in just a few minutes."

Roxton drew Marguerite away a few feet and dropped a light kiss on her cheek, grinning down at her. "Do you remember a similar situation about four years ago now?" he teased.

Marguerite nodded, green eyes soft and affectionate. "Indeed I do!" she teased. "But I noticed that you didn't drop _her_ like a sack of potatoes!"

"She didn't punch me in the chest and order me to let her go," he chuckled unrepentantly.

"Yes I did," Finn piped up indignantly from the blanket. "You wouldn't listen!" Then, intrigued, she queried, "You dropped Marguerite like a sack of potatoes? _You?!!_"

Marguerite laughed at John's chagrin. "Caught! This proves you really were a cad when we first came here!" she crowed gleefully.

Ears reddening, Roxton denied it vehemently, but Marguerite ignored him and rejoined Finn and Challenger on the blanket to tell Finn all about the early incident while Challenger doctored the cut. Veronica waded out of the water, Ned on her heels, both grinning at the nobleman's continued protests that there had been mitigating circumstances - he'd been seriously provoked by the haughty heiress.

His "loyal" companions ignored his good-natured appeals for them to verify for Finn's benefit just what Marguerite had been like back then, flatly refusing to endanger themselves by taking sides.

Engrossed in the jovial argument and tale telling, not even Veronica noticed the faint rustle in the shrubs that might have revealed the presence of the watcher, whose sharp eyes and keen intelligence gathered data to be used against them as he observed the happy family gathering.

This was it! He had actually found them! Now his long-awaited fun could begin!

*****

The man moving in the chamber stilled as Marguerite shifted uneasily. She certainly was a restless sleeper these days, he mused. Was he making too much noise? No, he didn't think so. The rabbit hides he had strapped around his boots had felt a little awkward at first, but the soft fur was quite effective at eliminating the sound of his footsteps. Not that it mattered much even if she or her friends did happen to catch the faint wisp of sound that the fur made occasionally. She could wake completely and it still wouldn't make a difference. He smiled in the darkness, gloating that she was finally going to pay for her insolence. Oh, he was having such fun with his secret weapon!

He barely suppressed his laughter as he gathered the colorful scarves strewn about the beautiful brunette's room and deftly rearranged them. He stepped back to check the results in the silvery moonlight that filtered in through her window, then moved quietly back out of her room.

In the last bedroom he still had to visit that night, Hoffner found the youngest girl's weapon and took a few moments to examine it curiously. That it was a crossbow was clear, but the metal from which it was made excited his curiosity. Perhaps he would take this weapon back with him as well when he left this accursed plateau. His lip curled as he looked down at the slim blonde sleeping so soundly. He had been reading some of the journals kept by the former reporter. Girl from the future indeed! That was preposterous!

But then again, that's what he would have said about Challenger's lost world before he had encountered the dinosaurs and ape-men. Well, wherever this girl Finn had come from, whether it was another time or just another area of this blasted plateau, soon she would exist nowhere at all. She was unimportant, no need to toy with her or the other scantily clad blonde woman. Their only use to him was in the pain they would bring to his targets as their deaths were discovered.

Even after watching them for a week he was still suspicious of the odd affection they seemed to share in this makeshift family. He never would have believed it possible, having known them both before they had come here to this infuriating plateau. If the affection were genuine, then their grief over the demise of these two females would bring him satisfaction. If it were feigned for some reason he could not yet fathom, there would still be two less members of the group to bother with as he exacted his revenge. Each of the others would be dealt with in turn, until only his targets remained, helpless in his hands.

He unstrung the looped rope - taken out of the treehouse storage room - from around his shoulders and set the crossbow up carefully. Similar in principle to the set-up in the other blonde's room, his careful work would ensure that both of the Plateau women would be out of the way quickly come morning.

He'd been quite busy watching and planning for the last five days, and now everything was nearly ready. One last chore down in Challenger's lab, and daylight would see their world unravel around them. Their confusion was going to be wonderfully entertaining. In fact, everything he had done tonight was going to provide him with satisfying amusement as he watched them discover his mischief.

He wanted them to feel how powerless they each were against him. He wanted to shake their security, their trust in this mock family they seemed to have developed. Ironic, really, that the woman who had scorned creating a family with him should now suffer the loss of the family she appeared to have chosen. It was a toss up which he would enjoy more - putting the Black Widow in her place and taking away the man she either loved or had marked as her next victim, or seeing the great Professor Challenger stumped as he tried to fathom what was happening to his friends.

*****

Veronica's light-colored lashes fluttered open with the sound of the morning birds, and she smiled. About to roll off her bed, her smile suddenly faded and she stilled. That felt odd.

Accustomed to responding to the slightest details of her surroundings, she frowned and mentally searched for what was "off". It took only a moment more to realize that there was an unusual pressure on her ankle. Cautiously she raised her head and looked toward her feet. It wouldn't be the first time she had awakened with a snake curled around her legs, she mused - but what she saw made her blue eyes widen in alarm.

A vine-plaited rope had been tied about her ankle. Her eyes traced the cord upwards to find that her mosquito netting had been weighted and rigged to fall down when moved by the pull on the rope as she rose from bed. The objects that were serving as weights were what caused consternation: several machetes had been positioned such that their falling arc would undoubtedly inflict mortal wounds to anyone in their path of descent.

Very, very carefully, Veronica sat up, leaned forward, and untied the cord from her ankle. She barely dared to breathe until she was safely off the bed and on her feet out of range of the sharp blades. Then she snatched up her knives and ran. Someone had been in the treehouse - might still be here!

Straight to Roxton's room, where a light touch on her fellow-hunter's shoulder was all it took to rouse him to complete alertness. She touched her finger to her lips and whispered, "Trouble. We have an intruder."

Roxton hopped out of bed and pulled on his trousers, reaching for his Webleys. "Where?" he asked softly, giving her his full attention.

"Not sure. My room was booby-trapped." At his incredulous double-take, she shrugged. "I never heard a thing… though I did have a bad dream that woke me up. No one was there."

"Okay, I'll go left, check on Malone and Marguerite. You check Challenger and Finn."

She nodded, and they parted ways in the hall, moving stealthily.

Above them, watching over the railing, Hoffner ground his teeth in frustration. How had it failed?! He had noticed that this Veronica had fast reflexes, but it was inconceivable that she should have escaped those blades! Well, he could at least get the other blonde out of the way before they could see the trap. The hidden intruder deliberately knocked over one of the many potted plants they all tended with such disgusting devotion. The resulting crash made the German grin in satisfaction. That should wake the others and bring them on the run, which would prove fatal to the one called Finn.

Roxton whirled from Ned's doorway, staring up at the landing. He could see the fallen plant, but what had caused it? Their plants were too important medicinally and scientifically to treat them carelessly. Arthur Summerlee might no longer live among them but the old boy's lectures lived on vividly in their minds - and the original group often found themselves repeating his proverbs almost verbatim to one another and to Finn. No one would have left a plant in an unbalanced position and subject to damage from falling as that one had just done.

About to dart up the stairs, he whipped back toward the other direction as he realized he had just heard a familiar twanging sound and the faint thud of an arrow. Finn's crossbow?! Sudden fear in the pit of his stomach, he dashed after Veronica as she spurted towards the farthest bedroom in response to the alarming sound.

George Challenger stepped into the hall, hastily tucking his nightshirt into the waistband of his trousers, his blue eyes keenly seeking out the source of the crash. "Good gracious! The _Summerlee Nueriadus_!" he exclaimed as he, too, saw the toppled pot at the head of the stairs. He started up, then noticed that Roxton was headed for Finn's room right on Veronica's heels with his Webleys in hand.

Ned's sleepy voice drew the scientist's gaze to the reporter's doorway. "What's going on?" asked the younger man, still blinking things into focus from the sudden awakening.

"I'm not sure - something's wrong with Finn, I think," Challenger worried. "Let's go."

By the time the two men reached Finn's doorway Roxton was examining some sort of rope rigging that held Finn's crossbow strapped to the footboard of her bed.

"Finn!" Challenger paled and dashed forward to where Veronica was kneeling beside Finn on the floor next to her bed.

"I'm okay," Finn announced grimly, flushed with anger and shaking off Veronica's helping hand to rise to her feet without assistance. "Whose idea of a joke was _this_?!" she demanded, gesturing to the arrow imbedded in her pillow. It was a good thing she had plenty of experience with trip wires in the future where she had grown up. Only sheer survival instinct had prompted her dive to one side when she'd felt the pressure on her foot as she started to hop out of bed to check on the source of the crash upstairs. With an irritated huff born of the close call, she glared suspiciously at the others gathering in her room. "Whichever one of you did this, it was _not_ funny!"

"I've never seen knots like this," Roxton replied grimly. "This wasn't done by any of us, Finn."

"Roxton?" The strain in Marguerite's voice caught everyone's attention immediately as she arrived behind Ned and Challenger. Ned moved aside to let her through, but Marguerite didn't move any closer. "Is everyone all right?" she asked, taking in the way Finn's crossbow was set to go off, then looking searchingly at the others. Relieved that they were all present and healthy, she turned away. "You should come see this," she said over one shoulder as she walked away.

Puzzled, they all followed her back down the hall to her room. She gestured gracefully, and her friends followed the movement to see Marguerite's silky scarves spread out on the floor. Someone had carefully positioned them to spell a message. _You will die last_, it read.

Marguerite sighed and faced her friends, folding her arms across her chest. "It looks like we have a new enemy - or perhaps an old one has come to visit." She should have paid more attention to her intuition. She glanced at her hunter, wondering if he had understood the vague hint that she was afraid this new foe was yet another threat from her past, endangering them all to get at her.

"Maybe," Roxton frowned, glancing around at the group. "We're all okay for now. But let's check the treehouse for any more unpleasant surprises. And let's pair off. Once we're secured we'll figure out how the treehouse was tampered with and see if we can reason out whom we're dealing with this time. Veronica, you're with Finn. Malone and Challenger, keep an eye on one another. Half an hour, people, then we meet at the table upstairs."

They nodded and split up to carry out his suggestions. No one was surprised that the nobleman was staying with Marguerite himself, and none of them commented about it. Once the others were out of the room Roxton opened his arms to his lady. Marguerite accepted his gentle embrace.

"Your ominous danger on the horizon is apparently here, my dear," he said lightly. "Are you all right?" He nuzzled her dark tangled curls, reassuring himself as much as Marguerite. He hadn't missed her veiled innuendo that she thought this was a personal threat, not a generic one.

"Yes," Marguerite nodded against his chest, hugging him as tightly as he was clasping her. "It's almost a relief, John." Her feelings of impending doom had been growing all week, though neither she nor the other explorers had been able to find any concrete reason for the former triple agent's uneasiness. They had attributed their own sensations of being watched to the power of suggestion, Challenger speculating that their uncomfortable perceptions had been brought on by Marguerite's insistence that something was wrong. "At least I know I'm not losing it," she tried for a smile, but he could see her heart wasn't really in it.

Roxton kissed her tenderly. "Don't worry, Marguerite. You're not facing this intruder alone. Whoever he is and whatever he's after, we'll be standing with you, and we're a pretty formidable bunch," he assured her lightly. "Now suppose you get dressed, and we'll do a quick look-see around your room and mine."

Marguerite nodded, and moved away to get dressed.

Hoffner was stunned as he watched the traffic moving back and forth in the hall below- all _six_ of them still alive! How could _both_ of those blondes have survived his traps?! It should have been foolproof! What had gone wrong?

Worse still, he had never imagined that Marguerite Krux would reveal his message to the others. He had expected her to keep it to herself, which would have added to the puzzle he was presenting to them. The changes he had noticed in her behavior and attitude, so different from when he had known her before, must be genuine after all, and not simply another façade donned by the Black Widow - but this was so completely unlike the woman who had betrayed him that he was stunned.

Fortunate indeed, in light of Marguerite's unanticipated response, that having watched this group over the last week and witnessed their unfathomable affection and loyalty to one another - even the traitorous Marguerite! - Hoffner had already taken the precaution of setting up the necessary details to neutralize the men of the Challenger Expedition, not just the two blonde women.

Hoffner had taken especially malicious enjoyment in his plans for George Challenger, who was number two on his list of enemies and the only one other than Marguerite who might recognize him if his plans went completely awry and his secret weapon failed him.

With the two younger women still alive and his warning to Marguerite revealed to everyone, he would have to alter his plans somewhat.

But if they wanted to act as a group, he could deal with them as a group. After all, he had his secret weapon, a discovery made right here on the plateau that even George Challenger would be unable to shrug off - and it was still functioning beautifully, with no sign of impending failure.

Deciding that the hunter's instincts were too quick to risk alerting him yet - not to mention the Black Widow's - the German avoided the dark-haired couple for now. Curious to see how he had failed, he descended the steps and slunk after the two women walking back toward Finn's room, where he proceeded to ignore them as he examined his trap. Odd, it looked like it should have worked perfectly. The crossbow was still fastened securely right where he had set it up.

Veronica moved to the foot of the bed. She withdrew her boot knife and cut the ropes with swift, sure movements, freeing Finn's weapon and handing it to her as soon as the younger woman had finished dressing. "You didn't hear anything either?"

"What do you mean, either?" Finn scowled, looking up sharply from examining her crossbow to be sure it was still in working order.

The jungle-born blonde related how she had awakened to find her own bed booby-trapped, completely unaware of the man listening so intently. "If it had been set to trigger when I pulled back the mosquito netting instead of being tied to me, I might not have realized it soon enough," Veronica concluded wryly. "And other than a bad dream that woke me, I never noticed a thing. Whoever this is…"

Finn nodded gravely. "Yeah, me too."

"What?"

"I had a bad dream, too. Woke up, but didn't see anything. I thought it was just more spooky thoughts thanks to Marguerite's premonitions. Looks like she was right, though." Finn folded her crossbow and fastened it to her belt, reaching for her pouch of steel arrows. "I got a bad feeling about this, Vee."

"Yeah, so do I. I think -"

She broke off, startled as a heartbroken cry of loss reverberated through the treehouse. "Uh-oh. That was Malone. What now?" Finn wondered aloud as the two hurried toward the writer's bedroom where Challenger had been waiting for Ned to finish changing before going to his own chamber to exchange his nightshirt for proper clothing.

Hoffner trailed along behind them, moving as silently as a mouse and grinning to himself in anticipation. Finally! One piece of his plan had fallen into its proper place.

Finn and Veronica met Marguerite and Roxton coming from Marguerite's room, all of them entering Ned's chamber with trepidation as Ned continued to voice hoarse, pained cries.

"Look at this! Why would anyone do this?!" Ned was clearly distraught as he stared at his desk, his hands shaking as they hovered over his desktop. He kept shifting his position from one corner of his desk to the other, bewildered, clearly unaware of the hand that Challenger had sympathetically placed on his shoulder. One glance was all that was necessary for the others to understand his feelings, though comprehending the scope of what had happened took a bit longer.

Ned's journals were spread across the usually neat surface, and ink had been dumped indiscriminately over the opened pages so thickly that there would be no way of recovering the data that had been recorded there. The journals were ruined. Months - perhaps _years_ of his carefully recorded account of the Lost World and its wonders were gone, lost in the ink-soaked pages.

Challenger shook his head, horrified and unable to tear his eyes from the desktop disaster. "What kind of monster would do something so hideous?" he breathed, shocked by the destruction of data collected so painstakingly by the young journalist. Then his blue eyes narrowed in sudden alarm. If someone would do this to Ned's journals right in his own bedroom - "_My lab!_" he gasped, forsaking Ned's side in a dash for the door, pushing past the younger explorers urgently.

The tall hunter started to follow, then hesitated, looking back and forth between Malone, his lady and the younger women. Hoffner was delighted with the uncertainty he had caused with his meddling.

Veronica dipped her head to Roxton. "You three go, I'll stay with Ned," she promised, waving them off and moving to Ned's side sympathetically - much to Hoffner's disgust and disappointment.

Roxton nodded, cast one more sympathetic look back at his younger friend then ran after their older friend and leader. Marguerite and Finn paused only long enough to exchange concerned looks with Veronica before following their dark-haired protector to the lab.

Less than pleased with this show of solid support for one another, Hoffner sidled around the young couple and followed the others to Challenger's lab, careful to monitor his footfalls as he established himself in a corner of the landing that wasn't likely to be traversed by the others.

The red-headed scientist was hurriedly, possessively, checking over his neatly shelved journals and his carefully monitored experiments. He glanced up distractedly when the younger trio descended the steps to the lab. "Nothing seems disturbed..." he murmured, continuing his search for damage. "I am almost positive that everything is still in place, undamaged."

Marguerite went to the workbench she used when helping Challenger, and glanced over her work there. Finn checked the small rodents and insects they had been observing. They all appeared healthy enough. "All clear here, Challenger," Finn noted, turning to face him.

"Here as well," Marguerite agreed, though she couldn't shake a prickly feeling that there was something . . . She glanced over at the steps, frowning. It was as if someone… or something… was there … but there was nothing to be seen. "Everything is… fine."

Challenger sighed in relief, his sharp gaze having ascertained that none of his journals were missing and all of his carefully hoarded scientific tools were safe. But he didn't relax. There was much more to be checked.

He moved over to the shelves where he had categorized and stored the various chemicals and medicines they had collected over their years on the plateau, checking off his mental list of what should be there as he placed a light finger on each container. He stiffened suddenly. "The corrosive acid - it's been used!" he announced in concern, picking up a nearly empty glass jar and turning to show it to the others. "This should be almost full."

Corrosive acid… metals… "The guns!" Roxton spun on his heel and bolted up the stairs, the others right behind him after exchanging glances of alarmed consternation.

The weapons they used daily were right where they should have been and looked unharmed. Taking no chances, Roxton, Challenger and Marguerite worked together at the table to carefully check each one, disassembling them individually to make sure the parts were all intact. Finn watched anxiously, wandering restlessly between the table and the rail overlooking the lower level. She could hear Veronica's voice soothingly speaking to Ned, and Ned's occasional quiet response. Sounded like Vee had things well in hand with the handsome journalist.

"Nothing," Roxton sighed in relief as they finished the last ones, Malone's pistol and rifle.

"I don't understand it." Challenger scowled deeply. "Obviously the intruder meant to murder Veronica and Finn, and frighten Marguerite -"

Finn snickered. "As if some dumb scarves could frighten Marguerite!"

Challenger frowned at her in rebuke for her interruption and continued pointedly, "It might have been effective at frightening Marguerite if he had succeeded in killing you two…" he paused, and Finn nodded reluctantly. The scientist continued with his musing: "The threat would certainly have much more force behind it had Veronica or Finn died this morning. But if Marguerite is this intruder's ultimate target, damaging Malone's journals does nothing to eliminate Malone as the traps might have eliminated the girls. Ruining his journals couldn't kill him or hurt Marguerite in any way. It only injures the lad emotionally. Of what use is such a personal attack? And what happened to the acid?"

Roxton saw Marguerite suddenly pale. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

She swallowed hard and shook her head, not liking what she was suddenly dreading to voice. Instead of saying it, she rose from the table, turned and dodged back down the stairs and through the hall that curved around the treehouse's lower level.

The others followed her quickly. Ned and Veronica heard them coming, and emerged from Ned's room in time to see Marguerite dashing past, veering into the British Lord's room. The younger couple exchanged alarmed glances and joined the others, entering Roxton's bedroom behind the brunette.

The agitated brunette had dropped to her knees before the polished cases that contained Roxton's prized hunting rifles - the special ones he had brought along for bagging his biggest trophy. Hands on the lid of the closest custom gun case, she hesitated, then slowly opened the rosewood box.

Hoffner made it into the room in time to see what happened next, much to his gratification.

Roxton came to a halt behind her, stiffening and barely biting back the groan that rose, his stomach clenching as he saw the contents of the case over her shoulder.

Ruined.

The barrel had been marred and twisted by the acid from Challenger's lab, mangled beyond any chance of repairing it for use again. He would never be able to reforge that here on the plateau with the few tools he had brought along for maintaining his weapons.

After a stunned moment, he knelt beside Marguerite and opened the next case himself… and the third and fourth in quick succession. He said nothing, sitting back on his heels and staring blankly at his cherished armaments. Each and every one of Roxton's sporting weapons had been ravaged and rendered useless by the acid.

Marguerite bit her lower lip, determined not to cry, watching John's reaction with deep pain for his loss. She might have teased him mercilessly about his affection and care for his guns, but she had always recognized the satisfaction their care and proper use gave the sportsman. This bit of malevolent mischief hit as hard at John as losing the journals had hurt Ned.

Roxton's jaw was clenched tightly, and his brow furrowed more and more deeply, but still he remained motionless. The others ached for him and waited with baited breath - including their unseen intruder, though his attitude was gleefully expectant as he watched the panorama he had orchestrated. _Now_ things would surely fall apart!

But their veiled intruder had underestimated the internal fortitude of the world-famous adventurer.

Lord John Roxton rose to his feet suddenly, turning resolutely away from the evidence of the malicious intruder's activities. "This moron wants to rattle us. We can't let him. Stay alert, everyone. And stay together. Let's not let him pull anything else on us without our noticing it. Check everything."

He bent slightly to place his hand at Marguerite's elbow and help her up - a perfectly gentlemanly gesture not lost on his companions. His darkened green eyes were bleak and cold, full of inner turmoil, but he remained calm and controlled.

Everyone else followed his lead. Challenger took a breath, surprised to realize suddenly that he had been holding it, and warned, "Use caution, everyone. Whoever this is managed to prepare those traps for Veronica and Finn without being seen, and to be in and out of Malone and Roxton's rooms as well during the night. The elevator hasn't sounded, so he - or they - may still be up here with us - and there may be more of those booby traps. Keep your guard up."

From a corner near the window, Hoffner watched incredulously, frustrated yet again as the group left Roxton's room and split up to thoroughly search the treehouse. This wasn't the way he had planned his revenge. He'd had time to gather information on the Expedition members while he plotted to follow them from Europe to South America. Of course he hadn't known exactly how he would use that data until after he had discovered his secret weapon, but he had gleaned enough about each of them to have a good grasp of weaknesses he could use against them.

Why the devil couldn't they just react the way they should?!

The stalker had carefully studied each of Marguerite's male companions, but the explorers had not done what Hoffner had reasonably concluded they should. Even George Challenger - who he'd known well enough that he had not thought he needed to do any research on at all - was not reacting as he would have in the past. It was astounding to see the previously self-absorbed scientist taking part in the group's joint attempt at self defense, instead of focusing solely on his own work and interests. This was almost a complete turn around from the man who had left London nearly four long years ago.

Hoffner had determined that Lord John Roxton, named the Great White Hunter by the press (among other things) was a prideful man who lived for the hunt and conquest of his quarry. If the nobleman had been true to his past habits, he ought to have descended to the ground immediately to try to track the intruder and take justice for the injury done to his 'toys'.

The reporter should have withdrawn and focused on rewriting his journals, as Hoffner knew the young American had done after a traumatic experience during the war. Although after perusing those sappy journals the Yank had penned here on the Plateau, the German plotter had half expected that the young American might just follow Roxton into physical action without a second thought. Malone's more recent journals had shown he might be inclined toward taking action instead of merely observing, after these years on the Plateau.

But neither man had shown any sign of taking these instinctive actions. Instead, like Challenger, they had banded together to solve the mystery of the intruder and to support one another!

And Marguerite! In all the time he had been following her, carefully piecing together her trail and trying to figure out exactly what she had been up to and who she really was, never had Hoffner seen or heard of the Black Widow building any kind of trust or partnership with others. Oh, others might have trusted her - at least briefly - but the wily beauty had never confided in or relied upon anyone else. He had never quite been able to establish to his satisfaction just what it was that took Marguerite Krux around the world so unpredictably, but one thing had been unquestionable. She had always arrived alone and departed alone. The bitter stalker had looked forward to watching her struggling in total isolation from the others as she attempted to understand what was happening. Yet here she was, warning the others of the danger - she had even figured out somehow exactly what he had done to hurt that lord of hers. She ought to have been trying to deal with Hoffner's attacks on her own, according to everything he had discovered about her past patterns, merely using the others to further her own interests or protect herself - but she seemed to be genuinely working with them!

Sneaking the writer's journals from the treehouse shelves to help him confirm his previous research about each of them as he plotted his revenge had given him a glimmer that the original Expedition group may have evolved since they left England. But Hoffner had discounted much of what he'd read in Malone's journals as being no more than the romantic twaddle of an aspiring author. Now, however, it appeared the sentimental writer had been more right than wrong! The Explorers had indeed become a formidable unit, their closeness enabling them to strengthen one another and preventing any of them from making the mistakes he had expected and counted on to lead them to their doom.

It was no fun at all to exact revenge on people who refused to be terrorized by these attacks perpetrated on them by an unknown assailant in their own home!

He was going to have to up the ante. He still had the advantage; he had his secret weapon. He just needed to use it more creatively. Helmut Hoffner began to smile. Actually, prolonging the climax of his retribution and tearing down their friends in spite of the fact that they were now alerted should make his revenge against both Marguerite and Challenger even sweeter!

*****

The reports the Explorers shared with one another as they gathered around the table at the appointed time were not encouraging.

Veronica and Finn had checked the thatching on the roof where entry was possible by swinging over from nearby trees. Branches from neighboring trees had been trimmed back regularly since the last time Tribune's people had used this method to come into the treehouse, to minimize the possibility of further incursions through the roof. Anyone managing to make the jump over the gap that now existed would have left easily-visible signs of their landing on the bundles of thatch, or broken the higher branches of the tree which sheltered their home... but there had been nothing.

Roxton and Marguerite had done the circuit of the lower balconies, checking for signs of intruders that might be revealed in breaks or torn foliage among the ivy and vines. As usual, plenty of vegetation had managed to creep up again since the last time they had cleared the verdant jungle plants away a few weeks ago. The couple also thoroughly examined the balcony's pole railing for marks from grappling hooks, spikes, arrows, or climbing ropes. But they had seen no indication of attempts to attain access to the treehouse in that way.

Challenger and Ned had worked their way along the upper balconies, though it was a less likely access point than the lower balconies. Then they had carefully checked the mechanisms on the elevator. Both men would have been chagrined to know that they had actually abetted Hoffner by giving him a ride down to the ground when they ran the elevator to be sure the mechanics were unharmed.

The explorers had made a thorough search within the many rooms of the treehouse, but not a single clue had been yielded that would help to identify the intruder. It was impossible even to say if it was one person or more than one who had managed to gain entrance to their home. The only thing they could be fairly certain of was that there were no more booby traps - at least, none that any of them could find. The treehouse dwellers were not very comforted by this 'fact'.

Finn had been watching George Challenger all the while the others had outlined their lack of findings, and now she drew his attention by laying a gentle hand on his arm and chiding him. "If you hold onto that scowl much longer, your face is gonna freeze that way permanently."

His blue eyes blinked uncomprehendingly at her for a moment. Then he couldn't help a wry smile. "Perhaps deservedly so, Finn. Everything that has occurred must have been arranged for a specific reason. There has to be logic behind it. But what is the common thread? Why attempt to kill you and Veronica, but not the rest of us? Or why destroy something valuable to Roxton and Malone, but not do the same to the rest of us? Why only leave a message for Marguerite, but not damage any of her goods or attempt to harm her? And why has nothing been done directly against me? Nothing of mine has been damaged, and there has been no threat to my person." His impatient tone was tinged with chagrin. "There must be a purpose for this exception as well, but I cannot seem to detect any connection that makes sense, or indeed, any logic to this attack against us."

Ned chuckled. "Only you could be bothered by a detail like that, Challenger," he teased, "instead of just being thankful that our mystery intruder has left you alone!" The others laughed as the eldest treehouse resident's ears went nearly as red as his hair. Then, more thoughtfully as the idea struck him, the perceptive writer offered, "But perhaps that's exactly the method our nemesis has chosen to hurt you."

"What do you mean, Neddy-boy?" Roxton asked keenly, noting that Ned's blue eyes were sharpening as he worked through his thoughts. Ned's creative mind and reporter's intuition had found answers for the group too often to be ignored by any of his companions.

"Well, think about it, Roxton," Ned replied slowly, taking his own advice and pondering aloud, "I take pride in my journals, you take pride in your sporting armaments, and both of those were taken from us. What does Challenger value?"

Veronica, leaning her elbows on the table with her chin propped in her palms, answered that with a twinkle in her sky blue eyes. "His intelligence."

"Exactly! And this series of incidents makes Challenger's intelligence as useless to him as my journals now are to me, or Roxton's guns are to him after the damage done to them. There's no rhyme or reason to the things that have happened, no logic that Challenger can pin down." Ned's voice rose with excitement as he worked through his theory. He looked at the others for opinions. "Maybe that's the purpose in not having done anything directly to Challenger, to make it seem that there is no consistent pattern to what is happening, thus causing him to feel that he's failing because he can't find a logical pattern to what's being done to us."

Marguerite smiled at him, impressed. "That actually makes sense, Ned," she approved, then couldn't resist adding, "in an odd sort of way."

Ned wrinkled his nose at her, used to her teasing.

"Yes, but it would also indicate that this nemesis, as you so aptly named him - or them - would have to know George quite well in order to realize that he would be bothered so much by not being able to reason it all out," Roxton pointed out.

"Figuring that out wouldn't necessarily be that hard," offered Veronica with an affectionate grin at the scientist seated across the table from her. "He's accumulated quite a reputation for his wisdom since arriving here. Wasn't it just last month that we woke to find tribal emissaries camped out below the treehouse in search of the great wizard Challenger? They were from a section of the plateau where even I had never been - but they had heard rumors of our wizard's wondrous wisdom."

"Good point," Roxton chuckled as George's sun-bronzed face flushed nearly pink. That incident in the previous month had totally flustered the man, in spite of his usually gargantuan ego. "Given George's -er-scientific reputation for solving puzzles here on the plateau, it's quite possible for someone to have heard rumors about his remarkable deductive skills. It could have prompted our nemesis to design a series of attacks that seem to have no logic in order to get at George."

"But what about me and Veronica? Why try to kill us instead of only hurting us, like he did when he went after the rest of you?" Finn asked, brow furrowed in concentration as she followed the conversation around the table.

"Veronica and I," Challenger corrected absently, brow creasing as he continued to think through Ned's proposition.

"Huh? No, he tried to kill _me_ and Veronica, not _you_ and Veronica," the future girl insisted, puzzled and concerned at his confusion over this obvious fact. Was something wrong with Challenger?

Tactfully suppressing an amused smile, Veronica explained that the professor had been correcting her grammar, not the actual content of her sentence.

"But she's right." The scientist's declaration startled the others. Once they had all focused on him he explained, "Veronica and Finn are different than the rest of us. They both have their origins here. Only those of us who came here from Europe seem to be targets of these strange games. That would explain the attempts on their lives instead of merely toying with them as with the rest of us. Our intruder has no interest in them, so he simply eliminates them while he apparently wishes to prolong his - or their - punishment of us."

"So you think someone is after us because we're not from the plateau?" Roxton frowned, not sure he understood what Challenger meant.

"Kind of a 'Yankee, Go Home' syndrome?" Ned suggested, his blue eyes twinkling as he recalled a joke Challenger had made years ago when Ned had volunteered for the Expedition - even Challenger's detractors had enjoyed a chuckle over their fellow Englishman's quip that they wouldn't hold Ned's being an American against him.

"No, not exactly. Though perhaps the issue does have to do with where we are from," Challenger suggested thoughtfully.

Marguerite nodded. "Europe," she said flatly. "It's someone who has followed us from Europe." The others turned to look at her, startled by the surety in her tone - except for Roxton, who understood it.

Listening in growing dismay from a safe corner, their predatory 'guest' stiffened. No! It was too soon for them to start getting so close to the truth! He needed to find a way to separate them. Together they were figuring things out too quickly - it would spoil his fun to end his intended torments too soon!

The concealed intruder moved deftly to the control panels for the electric fence, and shifted the power level higher. This was sooner than he had intended to use this particular device, which was a plan he had conceived after both of the younger men had failed to go rushing into the jungle in reaction to their emotional need to make someone pay for their losses. When he had descended in the elevator earlier, he had traversed the path to the windmill clearing and jury-rigged the power production machinery to travel back on itself and blow out the generators as soon as a higher power level was engaged. Although triggering it now could raise Challenger's suspicions, his sabotage should have the effect of breaking up the meeting before they could get any closer to the truth of his presence and purpose among them.

Sure enough, Hoffner heard the feedback humming through the wiring seconds before he spotted the telltale flash that preceded the explosion of the fence junction box by the gate below, and then came the backlash of energy that caused the Treehouse power panels to burst into flame. The adventurers sprang away from the table to deal with the emergency.

The three women grabbed up some of the animal skin rugs from the floor and quickly smothered the flames that had leapt from the control panel to the surrounding furnishings and plants on the upper level of their home.

The men snatched up their rifles and gun belts automatically on their way past the gun rack to the elevator, going down to douse the fire resulting from the explosion there before it could spread to surrounding wood, and to check the damage to the fence.

It didn't take long to control the fires, so when the women joined the men on the ground and noticed their disturbed expressions, they braced themselves. "What now? The fires weren't that bad," Finn frowned.

"No, but the fence is damaged," Roxton pointed out, motioning to the burned out gate and its closest section of regular fencing. "We've managed to rig a temporary gate, but this was caused by a power surge. And there's no power now. Which means -"

"The windmill has been sabotaged," Finn said flatly.

The others looked at her in blank surprise.

"What?" The youngest treehouse resident scowled at her elders. "You think I never listen to all that stuff you guys always tell me?! How many times has Challenger explained about that surge protector thingy he installed to prevent the danger of a power feedback causing fires exactly like these?"

George Challenger's shaggy brows rose, and then he straightened his shoulders and beamed fondly at Finn. "That's precisely correct!" he declared, glancing around at the others with the air of a proud father showing off his daughter's accomplishment. "Very good, Finn! I did indeed invent the surge protector barrier board to prevent exactly what just occurred!" he added triumphantly, recalling how certain members of his party had bemoaned the time and energy to build his design as an unnecessary precaution.

"And since your surge protector thingy has worked to prevent feedback up until now, it must have been sabotaged," Finn repeated, giving Challenger a pointed look. "So shouldn't we go check on it?"

"Yes, immediately," Challenger nodded decisively. "Until we get it up and running again, our home is vulnerable to all manner of attack."

"All right, then. Challenger, Ned, Finn and I will go to the windmill. Finn can stand guard for us in case we have to do any heavy lifting to rebuild something. Veronica and Marguerite will stay here to guard the treehouse while they mend the burnt part of the fence and put together a proper gate." Roxton issued the orders with simple authority that no one questioned. They had made repairs to Challenger's equipment after storms or dinosaur trouble before this, and they all knew what to do in order to proceed most efficiency. The hunter hefted a thick spool of wire up to balance on one shoulder, keeping one hand free for his rifle, and motioned to the others to precede him. "Let's get moving. Daylight's a-wasting."

Challenger had finished this batch of wire only last week. The meticulously produced commodity had been meant to add another layer of height to their electric fence, but it might be needed to rebuild the coil of the generator.

Ned was already gathering tools from the shed. He put them together into a pack with extra bits of wire, a ball of silk, and a wooden can of the thick greasy oil used to lubricate the machinery they had built to power their generator and give the treehouse electricity. They almost always needed the gooey substance, and it always seemed to be Ned who ended up having the residue on his hands and clothes for days afterwards. He shrugged into the backpack, grinned at Veronica and gave her a cheerful wink, then set out behind Challenger and Finn, who had taken the lead. Ned knew it wasn't necessary to tell the jungle born and trained blonde to be careful.

Lord Roxton paused a moment more to study the two women. He, too, knew he didn't need to say the words. Both of these women were survivors. "Expect us back by dark," he said a bit gruffly. He took one more long look at the slim brunette, then turned away to bring up the rear of their little line hiking toward the clearing. He didn't like leaving them here alone with an unknown and unpredictable predator somewhere in the vicinity. But the windmill and the generator (and a conglomerate of other bulky inventions that didn't fit in the treehouse, used by Challenger for weather monitoring and various scientific endeavors none of the others - except perhaps Marguerite - understood) could be reached after only a ten minute hike. That was close enough to hear if there was any trouble that required them to get back to the treehouse quickly.

Veronica and Marguerite exchanged amused looks, both well aware of Roxton's train of thought. "Well, let's see what we're going to need to fix it this time," Marguerite sighed in resignation, and both women moved to the fence gate posts to check out the temporary repair the men had made already and what they needed to do to make it more permanent.

Up in the treehouse, Hoffner didn't waste any time getting down to business. He hadn't realized that triggering his power surge would result in having the treehouse to himself, but it presented a good opportunity to work on spooking them, shaking their confidence and nudging them toward panic . . . No need to hurry. He had plenty of time. Even if Marguerite and Veronica came back up earlier than he expected, they would never see what he was up to until he was ready for them to see it.

He chuckled aloud at his own brilliance, his brown eyes glittering as he turned with anticipation to the unguarded interior.

*****

"Now this is odd…" Challenger muttered to himself as he stared at the way his windmill had been rewired. It hadn't taken the genius long to spot what had caused the explosions and fires back at the treehouse. He had been examining it as best he could while trying not to hinder Roxton and Malone as they disassembled the large, awkward gears of their makeshift power plant so that he could replace the burned out wiring behind the mechanical components.

"What's odd?" Finn asked with quick interest, turning from where she had been leaning on the edge of the wooden platform. Anything had to be better than the boredom of standing watch while the men muscled the apparatus apart so that Challenger could rewire the connections properly again - even listening to yet another lecture about a bug!

"Watch it, George!" Roxton barked as he nearly tripped over the hunched scientist while backing up with one side of a four-foot cog balanced in the crook of his arm. "Malone! I'm losing it!" The dark-haired man wavered dangerously, searching for his equilibrium again as he tried to maintain his hold on his portion of their joint burden.

"I've got it," Ned assured him, better able to balance his own edge of the cog without a body squatting behind his legs as he stepped off the platform. He took more of the weight on himself, giving Roxton enough relief to allow him to regain stability.

"Sorry, old boy," the scientist apologized absently, but his attention was clearly still on the changes that had been made to his machinery. He was only vaguely aware of the temporary danger of having the heavy wooden cog drop onto his head and shoulders, and of the two younger men stepping safely away before lowering their cumbersome load slowly to the ground.

Challenger glanced up as Finn leaned over his shoulder, and then pointed. "See that? It's a brilliant piece of sabotage. It should have performed indefinitely, until we increased the power. Logically, the way this has been rewired should have meant that we wouldn't have suspected a thing until we found ourselves unexpectedly defenseless just when we were relying on the greater power against some large foe - say, a T-Rex…" He rubbed his forehead in obvious puzzlement. "I see no reason why that feedback surge occurred at this moment. Everything should still be functioning perfectly."

Finn's brow creased. "So we were lucky that this sabotage thingy didn't work?"

"No," he said slowly, "That's another odd thing. It did work! All of this is in perfect working order, other than being shorted out of course. That surge cannot have happened, shouldn't have been possible at all, unless something triggered it. The only thing that should have been able to start the reaction is an increase to the power flow, which can only happen if it is activated at one of the power boxes in the treehouse. I built that safeguard into this system quite specifically, and the saboteur used that to devise his trigger. But none of us touched that power unit, and it was within clear view of where we were sitting. We would have seen anyone who tried to increase the power so that the surge would be triggered. Obviously no one was there, so how did this happen? The way this has been wired, it is _not_ scientifically possible for that power feedback to occur without being triggered!"

Roxton and Ned exchanged frowns. "Are you sure, Challenger?" Ned asked hesitantly. "I mean, obviously, it _did_ get triggered. Are you positive that increasing the electric flow at the power unit in the treehouse is the _only _way to start the feedback?"

Challenger nodded gravely, glancing up over his shoulder at the pair. "Absolutely positive. There isn't any question about it. The way this has been rewired has only one use, to create that feedback loop. And there's one other odd thing. It's not a large detail, but I happen to have a bit of talent for noticing details -" he blinked at Finn's snicker at this understatement, then reddened slightly at the grins the men exchanged. "Anyway," he cleared his throat, "It's the way that wire has been wrapped there, see that?" he pointed to a place where two wires had been 'spliced' into one. "Now I'm sure that I have seen that particular way of wrapping before. See the way it's twisted and tied off there?"

"Where have you seen it before?" Roxton asked quickly, leaning over Challenger's shoulder to examine the telltale bit of workmanship.

"It was years ago," he mused, shaking his head. "And I suppose it's possible that someone else could have learned this from him. He's sure to be teaching his fool philosophy at some school where they aren't careful enough about who they employ. Universities are so careless these days…" his voice trailed off as he reached in and began to manually check on the damage done when explosions back at the treehouse had caused a secondary feedback surge to return along the wiring, right to the windmill and its associated mechanisms as well. "Brilliant work…" he murmured with reluctant admiration.

"Yeah, we get the picture," Finn sighed, "But who is this genius who does the brilliant sabotage work?" she asked pointedly.

"Oh, didn't I say? His name was Hoffner. Helmut Hoffner, I believe. A student of mine when I first began to teach, brash young fellow, German - or perhaps Austrian - prone to quite ridiculous theories and absolutely convinced that he and only he had the answers. Was always bragging that one day his name would be one to reckon with all over the world." Challenger straightened to his feet with a sigh. "This is going to take a lot of time to fix. Here, let me have those tools. Can you check on that spare generator shaft we made up and left under the platform? Just in case our nemesis found it and damaged it in some way…"

"So whatever happened to this Hoffner person?" Roxton asked as he and Ned got down on their knees and crawled under the platform to pull out the extra shaft they had taken the precaution of making when the windmill was first being constructed - at Summerlee's insistence, much to Challenger's annoyance at the time.

"Oh, I had him drummed out of the school after he performed a particularly unsafe experiment that endangered other students." Challenger started taking out the sabotaged wiring. "I believe that he returned to the continent in search of a university there that would sponsor his research. We did have several inquiries, but requests for recommendations tapered off as time passed. The last I heard of the fellow he was passing himself off as a specialist in making bombs and chemical weapons - a horrid fellow, all together. Such a misuse of science!" he grimaced.

"So you ruined his career?" Ned grunted as they backed out into the sunlight again, pulling the heavy wooden part with them. "I'd say that was pretty good motivation for wanting to get back at you. He'd know how intelligent you are, George, and how much it would bother you not to be able to figure something out logically."

Challenger paused a moment to consider this, then shook his head. "Perhaps. But it still makes no sense that he would try to kill the girls and threaten Marguerite, while only marring your journals and Roxton's guns. And it does not explain how he could have done all of this without any of us noticing him about the place - or why this sabotaged wiring activated itself today without a trigger."

Patiently Ned reminded, "But if he's actually pursuing a plan that is designed to make no sense in order to get at you, then it does make sense… sort of." The writer shrugged. "So far it's the only theory that makes any sense - whoever is pulling these stunts on us must mean it to make no sense."

George Challenger just shook his head again and went back to work on the windmill, though he still mulled over Ned's words.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice when Roxton tensed, dropped his end of the generator shaft and grabbed his rifle.

Finn and Ned had both heard the growing rustle in the brush, too, so all three of them were ready when the raptors burst forth from the jungle. Challenger had known they might be caught at work on his power plant and had placed everything well into the clearing partly for security. When they had first chosen and designed this site, allowing for time to arm and prepare a defense had been just as essential a consideration as being free of the trees to catch the full wind.

"Steady," the hunter warned firmly as they faced the four raptors bearing down quickly on the group. With their powerful scaly legs, it didn't take the predators long to cover the distance necessary to bring then into range. "Fire!" Roxton yelled hoarsely.

Finn's steel arrow found its mark and the beast furthest to the left fell mid-stride.

Neither Malone nor Roxton's bullets appeared to have found their targets. Challenger, attention finally caught by the weapons fire, lurched up to grab his own rifle as both younger men fired again.

"What the -" Roxton swore as he apparently missed a second time. Ned might miss twice, but Lord John Roxton _never _missed two shots in a row!

Finn had reloaded her crossbow, and she fired grimly, backing up against the platform as the small dinosaurs drew closer in giant leaps and bounds. A second raptor fell dead, causing the third one to swerve to one side to avoid being knocked over by its falling companion.

Challenger raised his rifle to his shoulder and squeezed off a shot at the large gray-green raptor now nearest the group of humans, and was startled when he missed. He blinked. How had he missed such a close target?

"Too close!" Roxton growled, reversing his grip on his rifle and then swinging with all his might at the scaly head of the charging raptor, connecting directly with the open jaws seeking his flesh. There was a satisfying cracking sound as the raptor's head was forced to the side. Roxton grinned. Broke its jaw!

Ned fired point blank at the beast as it veered toward him.

Nothing!

How had Ned missed point blank? Then Roxton made the connection. "Blanks!" Roxton dropped his rifle and pulled his knife from its sheath on the back of his belt. "The guns are useless!"

Fortunately, Finn's bolts were still available and her marksmanship was very accurate. She took out the last approaching raptor while Roxton was taking advantage of the nearer attacker's temporarily dazed condition to jump on it and sink his knife into its heart.

For a long moment they stared at the dead raptors and at one another, breathless at the close call.

Then the young lady from the future grinned widely at the men, lazily resting her crossbow over her shoulder as she teased, "Good thing for you guys that I didn't get killed this morning, or you'd all be dino-food right about now!"

Challenger exchanged startled looks with Roxton and Malone as they realized that this had to be the work of their mysterious nemesis again - and this time it had apparently been intended to kill the men. "So we would, my dear child, so we would!" Challenger acknowledged ruefully, patting her shoulder affectionately. "Well done, Finn."

Malone grimly nodded. "We have to get back to the treehouse and warn Marguerite and Veronica. The fence is down, and if trouble hits they'll rely on Marguerite's guns!"

That thought had already occurred to Roxton; he was moving before Ned voiced the concern, and now Finn and Ned started to follow him. But George Challenger stayed put.

"Wait! We need to finish these repairs, or we won't have the treehouse to retreat to!" Challenger reminded the trio, bringing them to a hesitant halt. "Veronica can handle anything that may come at them before we get back. The best thing we can do is get this up and running again so that we have something to fall back on!"

Roxton, recognizing the wisdom in George's argument, made a quick decision. "Finn, your crossbow is needed here. It's the most effective weapon we have at this point, so you stay here and protect Challenger and Malone. It only takes two men to put the windmill back together. It'll be safe with Finn here to keep watch. I'm going back to the treehouse. We can't risk what may happen if the women are taken unaware and Marguerite's bullets have been tampered with, too. I can make a start at checking the rest of the ammunition supplies."

Challenger nodded his approval thoughtfully. "Yes, that does need to be done. Be careful on the way back, John."

"I will," Roxton assured them, then gave Finn an encouraging smile. "Take care of them, Finn."

Finn straightened her shoulders, facing him gravely. "You can trust me, Roxton."

The tall dark-haired man started away at a lope, calling over his shoulder, "Give a shout when you're coming back so we know it's you coming in!"

"We will!" Ned shouted back, and watched anxiously until Roxton had vanished down the path toward the Treehouse before he turned back to help Challenger. "What's first, George?"

The lanky scientist set aside his rifle and motioned. "We need to undo this…"

*****

Veronica and Marguerite both froze when they heard the shots echoing through the jungle. Veronica met Marguerite's eyes. "They can handle whatever it is," she assured the troubled brunette. "After all, they have more guns than we do," the jungle girl pointed out with a grin.

"True," Marguerite nodded, and returned to taking down the charred remains of the former gate.

When the gunshots ceased abruptly a few moments later, Veronica looked up from laying out the framework for a new gate. Marguerite's green eyes met hers with open trepidation. The younger woman summoned a smile. "See, can't have been much of problem… hardly any shooting at all."

Marguerite nodded, but was careful to make certain her rifle was within easy reach before she finished pulling the last hinge loose. "We'll need another set of leather straps, these are too badly charred to hold against an attack of any force," she decided after a careful inspection.

"Okay, I'll get you a new set from the shed," Veronica stole a quick glance down the path toward the windmill, then went to the shed for more of the leather straps they had cured specifically to serve as hinges. Good thing Arthur Summerlee had always insisted they should take a bit of extra time to make more than one of things when they had the luxury of time to spare, rather than risking coming up short when there was dire need.

When she came back out it was to find Marguerite with her rifle up to her shoulder, aiming down the path. It only took a moment for Veronica to hear what had alarmed the former heiress, catching the sounds of someone - or something - approaching their home without any attempt at stealth. Coming fast, it wasn't enough noise to be all of their friends running for safety, so Veronica pulled her knife and leapt to Marguerite's side.

When Lord Roxton ran into view, both women let out their breath with relieved sighs. "Roxton, you oaf!" his lady scolded shrilly with her next breath, "You nearly gave us a heart attack! What on earth do you mean by coming back like that?! It would serve you right if I shot you right where you stand!"

Veronica smothered a grin as the British nobleman checked his long-legged lope, startled at the venomous welcome. Then he ducked his head, flushing shamefacedly as he realized that in his haste to get back he had failed to follow his own admonition to the others, forgetting to consider the effect it could have on the two women. For a second longer he eyed the brunette from beneath his lashes, until he was certain she wasn't really going to take a shot - or a swing - at him. She was pretty edgy and it would be worse when he told her about the bullets. "Um, I'm sorry, Marguerite, Veronica," he mumbled, resuming his approach but slowing to a walk.

"Well, aren't you going to tell us what all the shooting was about?" Marguerite demanded crossly as she finally lowered her rifle, glaring at him.

"Raptors."

"Why did you come running back?" Veronica asked, handing the leather straps to the other woman and moving toward the frame poles lying out on the hard packed earth only a few feet away from the now-unprotected fence opening. She could get back to work while she listened.

"We made a bit of a discovery," Roxton said grimly, taking Marguerite's rifle from her as he reached her side. He touched her cheek gently, giving her a ruefully apologetic look, knowing the flash in her eyes was worry, not really anger. Sure enough, his tender touch was enough to make her sharp glare soften. He bent his head to offer the further apology of a feather-light kiss, and was rewarded with a genuine smile. He allowed himself one more second to smile reassuringly into her eyes and watch them warm with affection for him, and then he regretfully turned away.

He pointed her rifle at the woodpile and fired it.

Veronica spun back to her feet, knife in hand, alertly scanning the surrounding jungle. "What?!"

Roxton shook his head, cocked the rifle again and fired once more, this time at the ground right at their feet. Marguerite stepped forward and stared at the unmarked ground.

Then she looked up at him in dawning horror. "Blanks!"

He nodded grimly. "If Finn hadn't been there with her crossbow, we'd probably all have been dead. As it was, she took out three of the raptors, and I was lucky enough to knife the fourth. If there had been more than four raptors - or if our nemesis had been successful in killing Finn and Veronica this morning…" He didn't need to finish; both women's widened eyes and paling faces told him they understood the implications clearly. "The others are going to finish up with fixing the windmill and the power generator. I was supposed to come back to warn you and start checking the ammo. I'll start with what we have stored down here in the shed."

Up on the treehouse balcony, Hoffner whirled away from the railing in fury.

Again they had managed to survive what should have been an inescapably lethal trap! That child! That girl from the future and her crossbow! Her presence had brought his careful plans to naught! This was ridiculous! What did it take to kill these people?! All his carefully laid plans! All the hours to rework the ammunition! And they had managed to survive!

He fought off the sudden feeling that he was going to fail - that Marguerite Krux was slipping through his fingers once again. No! He would not give in to such an irrational emotion! These friends of hers might have incredible luck, but they couldn't stop what they couldn't find! And they couldn't find what they couldn't see! He would win yet! He just had to control himself, be patient. Time was on his side. They couldn't beat the odds forever, after all.

Hoffner sneered as he looked around the treehouse, this primitive home that they had established together in this savage land. No, neither George Challenger's impressive knowledge nor all Marguerite Krux's considerable charms and wiles could save them from his retribution. His secret weapon would continue to give him the better odds. He would enjoy the satisfaction of his victory all the more for having to work a bit harder or wait just a little longer to achieve it.

Resolve firmer than ever, he returned to his next tasks, smiling grimly to himself as new plans evolved.

*****

The explosion rocked the treehouse to its roots, sending books, dishes, pots and pans, and supplies crashing off of shelves to the floor on both the upper and lower levels and causing the elevator to swing on its heavy cables.

Roxton, who had been knocked off his feet where he had been standing guard on the upper balcony, scrambled upright and ran for the lab, yelling, "Challenger! Malone!"

Veronica, Finn and Marguerite, who had been working together to make dinner, pushed away the fallen kitchenware, picked themselves up and joined the hunter in running downstairs toward the lab. They had to stop in the lab doorway at the top of the steps that led further in, unable to see further because of the billows of smoke roiling in the room.

"Ned!" Veronica shouted, squinting and waving in a vain effort to clear away some of the smoke. For a long moment there was no reply, and the four exchanged worried looks. "Ned?"

Then coughing was heard from the midst of the misty clouds of acrid smoke… two distinct sets of coughs, to everyone's relief. "Gotcha, George," they heard the American's voice rasp out. "This way." Roxton leapt forward to help as the two men materialized from the indistinct depths of the lab, Ned staggering along and supporting Challenger's taller frame with effort. "Thanks, Roxton," Ned barked out as the taller man caught the faltering scientist in time to shore him up and help mount the steps.

Once away from the smoke, the two younger men lowered Challenger to the floor. Ned doubled over, coughing harshly, as Marguerite and Veronica checked their leader over. "Water, Finn!" Veronica snapped without looking up.

Finn nodded and sprinted back toward the stairs to get water from the kitchen.

Their leader was conscious, though dazed and somewhat bruised. Marguerite glanced up at Roxton and gave him a reassuring nod. "He's okay."

Veronica looked over at Ned as she helped support Challenger's back so that Marguerite didn't bear the total weight of the broad-shouldered scientist. "Are you all right, Ned?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I don't know what happened," he shook his head, ears still ringing from the explosion. "One minute we were just mixing up the test batch and the next - Man, what's that smell?!"

Marguerite wrinkled her nose as the odor grew stronger, dismayed. "Ugh! You obviously confused the sulfur with the ammonium powder! No wonder it blew up in your faces!"

Challenger spoke groggily. "No - checked twice, since things have been so uncertain. Made sure we had the right containers -" he broke off to cough briefly, then continued, "before we began mixing the new gunpowder." He blinked his eyes owlishly, trying to bring his friends into focus.

Finn returned with two glasses of water, handed one to Ned - which Veronica rose quickly to steady for him - and knelt on the floor beside Marguerite and Challenger to put the second glass to her surrogate father's lips. "Here you go, Challenger, drink this," she urged worriedly.

Marguerite touched her shoulder with a gentle hand. "He's going to be fine, Finn, don't fret," she assured the girl. Finn blew out her breath softly, relieved, and smiled at the brunette.

"Luckily," Ned wheezed after a long drink of his water, "we had barely begun. You know how George always makes us start with a miniscule amount just to test how potent the ingredients still are, in case dampness crept in or anything. If we had plunged right into making a full batch to refill the bullets, we'd have blown ourselves right off the tree!"

"That was probably the intention," Roxton acknowledged grimly. "Seems like our intruder is aiming to do a lot more damage now. No fire?"

Ned shook his head promptly. "No, I don't think so. Just the explosion."

Marguerite agreed quickly. "It's nonflammable." At their questioning looks she explained simply, "It was part of my work for Winnie before the war even began, working in a lab where a nonflammable explosive was being created. Winnie wanted to keep an eye on its development." Her brow puckered just a bit as she saw that her words had provoked intrigued curiosity in the faces now all focused on her. To avoid the inevitable questions, and to relieve the stress burdening her 'family', she added in deliberately exaggerated disgust, "I nearly shot him for giving me that assignment. The stink took _weeks_ to wash out of my hair!"

Her quip succeeded in its intended goals; questions were deflected as Marguerite's friends exchanged grins at this customary focus on her own comfort, and tension noticeably lessened among the group.

Lord Roxton placed a tender hand on her shoulder, aware of how smoothly she had just manipulated things, and appreciating what she had accomplished with only a couple of brief sentences.

Hoffner, watching everything from the upper level, wasn't as appreciative. The stalker had been enjoying their discomfort. He scowled resentfully at the lovely brunette as she accepted Roxton's contact without shrugging him off. Then he glared at Lord John Roxton, who had apparently genuinely succeeded in winning the Black Widow's elusive heart.

Now that was odd, Hoffner thought, shifting uneasily as he noticed that Marguerite had tensed and was looking up toward where he was standing to watch them. It was almost as if she could tell he was there. But she couldn't, of course… could she? She had done that in the lab earlier, too.

The German's attention was pulled from Marguerite to the others again as Veronica left Ned's side to kneel on the floor across from Finn as the youngest remained at Challenger's side. "Let's get Challenger to his room so he can rest," Veronica suggested, wrinkling her own nose and adding ruefully, "though if that smell gets any worse I doubt if any of us will rest tonight."

"Or for weeks to come," Marguerite added lightly. "Maybe we should go visit Assai for a while."

Finn and Veronica each took an arm and helped Challenger rise unsteadily to his feet, the rangy man finding much to his irritation that he was too shaky to manage on his own. "Not without gunpowder," he muttered, accepting the support of both women out of necessity. "We'll have to try again once the smoke clears. We cannot make do without gunpowder."

"I'll help Ned, you just rest." When Marguerite actually volunteered to help, no one ever argued.

"Yes, Mother," Challenger grumbled, a smirk curving one side of his mouth upward as he glanced over at the brunette's stern stance. "Check the contents… I know I read it right…"

Ever since Ned had pretended to be Challenger, stalling for time in making gunpowder for Centuria, it had been Ned's task to work with Challenger in making up new gunpowder supplies. The two men spent a good portion of the time in exchanging jokes about their experiences with the lizardmen - and about the deficiencies in school systems that failed to educate youth in proper proportions for making gunpowder these days - while they completed the meticulous process. So the pair had gone straight for the lab when they had returned with Finn from repairing the windmill.

Now Marguerite looked over at their American friend. "How are you feeling, Ned?"

"Okay. I was across the lab when it happened," Ned replied. "My ears are ringing a bit, and I think I'm going to have some beautiful bruises where I was knocked into one of the worktables. It's nothing permanent." He gave Marguerite and Roxton a game smile. "But George is right, the label did say sulfur. I brought him the canisters."

"Well, we'll check on that first thing, once the smoke dissipates," Marguerite sighed, pushing aside the feeling that there was going to be more unpleasantness ahead. "At least you didn't hit your head this time," she grinned at Ned affectionately, patting his shoulder gently.

Ned chuckled dryly. "Now don't you start teasing me again, Marguerite Krux!"

The former triple agent's smile was mischievous as she replied, "Why not? You're my little brother, aren't you?" Her smile faded a little as she glanced upward again. That feeling… so familiar … Every instinct she had was warning her of danger. But there was nothing there. They had been over the treehouse already. She pulled her attention back to the two men, stifling her uneasiness and donning a carefree mask. "I think I'd better get back upstairs and check on dinner, since it will probably take Veronica and Finn a while to convince George to stay in bed."

Malone and Roxton exchanged dismayed and alarmed looks. "Er - we'll help you," Roxton offered almost instantly, pasting a bright smile on his face - too late?

"Yeah, no need for you to do all that work on your own," Ned agreed, hastily rearranging his own features as well, following his friend's lead.

Yeah, definitely too late. Marguerite's eyes had narrowed. "It's mostly made already. There's nothing I can do to hurt it," she said coldly, glaring at Ned and then at Roxton, more than a little irked at their blatant dismay over the idea of her going near the meal without someone there to supervise.

"That's not at all what I meant," the hunter gulped. "But -" he cast about frantically in his mind for a good reply, remembered the disarray caused by the explosion in the lab, and blurted out, "You'll need help cleaning up the dishes and tableware."

"Yeah," Ned put in, able to grin since it wasn't his love life that was going to be affected by the lack of tact they had just exhibited. "Though if you don't mind cleaning it all up yourself I could stay down here a while longer, keep an eye on the lab."

Not at all fooled, Marguerite gave a huff of displeasure and marched off ahead of the two men. They exchanged mutually sympathetic grimaces, then followed her. "Marguerite, you said you worked in a lab that was developing something like this before the war. Where was that?" Ned asked the offended woman, hoping to placate her with the change of topic as he followed John up the stairs. Almost instantly he realized it hadn't been a good choice of topic. Maybe he should have continued to joke around with her instead, he worried as he watched Marguerite stiffen even more.

"Germany," she replied flatly, pausing to survey the damage on the upper level. "The lab was in Germany." Then she froze in place, shivering, eyeing the rail that overlooked the hall of the lower level. There was that presence again. Germany! She whirled to face Roxton as he reached the top, her green eyes widening in remembrance. "John! That feeling! I know where it's from!"

Roxton took her arm and drew her aside so Ned could finish climbing the steps, too - nearly bumping into Hoffner in the process, had the hunter but known it. "The one you've been having on and off since we were at the pond?"

She nodded emphatically. "Yes!"

"Oh no, not your 'danger on the horizon' feeling again! Come on, Marguerite, haven't we all had enough of your goofy feelings?" Ned teased unwisely, not having noticed the sudden intensity of her expression. Then he ducked as she flung a handy book at his head. Hah! That had struck a nerve with the haughty brunette, he thought in amusement, too busy dodging to notice the look in her eyes.

"I was right, wasn't I?" she demanded angrily as Roxton caught her arm before she could heave the next book she had grabbed. She pulled away from him and crossed her arms defensively across her chest. "It wasn't paranoia at all, or imagined! Someone _was_ watching us!"

Hoffner almost gave himself away. He had heard them talking about these mysterious ominous feelings of Marguerite's, but hadn't paid attention enough to realize what it had been about. He had never taken this into consideration - how could it be possible that she could sense his presence? Yet it might supply the answer to how she had so often eluded him when he'd almost had her in his grasp before the Great War. And he had feared that she had somehow spotted him several times during the past week, looking right in his direction. He would have to consider this further … after the current intriguing conversation was over.

Roxton shot Ned a dark look of warning, then said soothingly, "Yes, you were right, Marguerite. Ned knows that. So tell us what you've remembered about this feeling."

With another baleful glare at the unrepentant Ned, she disciplined herself to refocus on the issue at hand. Dreading more than ever that somehow yet another part of her past had come back to endanger these people she loved, she slowly elaborated, "I met this man before the war. He was a totally disgusting puffed up toad of a fellow who always gave me the creepiest feeling that he was on the verge of insanity -"

"Naturally the maniac loved you," Ned couldn't resist inserting with a devilish grin, safe in the knowledge that Roxton wouldn't let Marguerite do anything to hurt him, just as the hunter hadn't allowed Ned to throttle Marguerite three years ago when she had ripped out part of his journal. Opportunities to really zing Marguerite the way she so often teased him just didn't come along often enough to pass them up - and teasing her would at least keep her from remembering their slight to her abilities in the kitchen. So he continued: "It's always the mad men who fall for your particular charms, isn't it?"

Hoffner wondered which of her liaisons before the war had inspired the beautiful Marguerite to give such a description. He had learned a fair amount about her as he followed her around, but he couldn't think of anyone who might fit this description.

Meanwhile, Roxton barely succeeded in catching hold of the potted plant the furious brunette had raised over her head to hurl at her "little brother". Setting the plant out of reach with one hand, he wrapped his other arm about Marguerite's slender waist and pulled her tight against his side to keep her from going after anything else to throw at their clueless companion. "Marguerite, hold still! And Ned," he snapped crisply, "_Shut up!_"

At his exasperated tone, Marguerite stopped trying to break loose and stood quietly in Roxton's grasp.

Ned grinned. "Okay." He was feeling much better now. He perched on the arm of the long bench, swinging one booted foot idly and prepared to watch admiringly as his friend dealt with Marguerite. "Not another word about non-existent dangers and mad lovers," he quipped agreeably.

Upon reflection, it probably hadn't been a good idea to give her a rough time on a day when they had all been pushed to the limits. But then again… He lost his train of thought as he suddenly noticed the sheen of tears in her green eyes as she stared down at the plank floor, unyielding in the circle of Roxton's strong arm. Ned's smile and his sense of satisfaction both vanished. Oh no. Ned grimaced in concern. This was serious.

Roxton was talking quietly to her, coaxing and gentle, his hands resting softly but firmly on her shoulders now as he tried to get through to her. But Marguerite wouldn't look up at him. She just kept staring at the floor, mouth tightly compressed, eyes shimmering with those tears she wouldn't let fall, arms once again crossed protectively across her chest. She shook her head once, and pulled away from him when he would have kissed her cheek. Twisting away from his hands, she turned and walked stiffly out to the balcony.

Lord Roxton pushed one hand through his hair, aggrieved eyes following his lady to her old familiar place in the furthest corner of the balcony from the great room. Then he turned his head and glared at Ned in frustration. "You just couldn't keep quiet, could you?" he sighed. "Couldn't you see that you were hurting her? She's only just starting to trust us to _accept_ her about her gifts and her past, instead of treating her to ridicule or belittling her the way people have done all her life!"

Ned winced as he rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, Roxton. I was just kidding around, honestly. I didn't mean any of it seriously. I'll go talk to her."

"No, let her alone for a little bit. It's been a long day. Let's just get dinner ready and clean up in here. Then I'll go talk to her again after she's had a few minutes to cool off and think it through." He took one more look at her solitary figure, his heart aching for her, before moving toward the kitchen. "Let's get to work, Ned." He clapped his friend on the shoulder to reassure him that he held no grudge for having upset his lady.

Ned gave one last lingering look at Marguerite standing so still in the shadows of the corner at the far end of the balcony, sighed, and followed Roxton.

Helmut Hoffner could have danced a jig of delight! Now this was more like what he had wanted to see happen! Of course, it wasn't perfect - he should have taken into consideration that Challenger might test his ingredients before mixing a complete batch of gunpowder. Marguerite would know instantly what it was once she checked it. Now his carefully measured out ammonium powder would go to waste instead of serving to blow out the side of the Treehouse as he had originally planned.

It would have been so gloriously satisfying if it had gone the way he had plotted for it to occur! Over the last week the sly German had very carefully noted where Challenger always stood when mixing up his formulas, and where the others worked. He had planned it so that any assistant helping mix up a new batch of gunpowder would be thrown out of the treehouse in the blast, while the explosion would only hurl Challenger himself against the inner wall. It would have left his former teacher riddled with guilt at the serious injury - or hopefully even outright death of his coworker!

Well, at least the Black Widow was feeling isolated again, facing Hoffner's wrath without her 'family' now. Yes, the tensions were rising and dividing the group just as he'd originally planned. It was only taking a little longer than he had anticipated.

And it wasn't over yet. No, he had plenty of tricks up his sleeve still to come.

Hoffner leaned on the railing and happily watched Marguerite's lonely vigil on the balcony.

*****

Ned had gone out to the balcony and apologized to Marguerite before dinner, but she hadn't joined them for the meal, claiming to be too tired to want to eat anything. She shrugged off Veronica and Finn's suggestion that they should bunk together and take turns keeping watch through the night. "I don't have anything to worry about as long as all of you are still alive," she said flatly without looking at any of them, catching the women and Challenger off guard with her long-unused icy and disdainful tone. Then Marguerite had marched down the stairs to retire for the night, without a backward look.

"Oh, that's not good," Challenger murmured in concern as he watched her ramrod straight back disappear around the descending curve of the stairs. He had felt refreshed by his brief rest before Ned had called them for dinner, coming upstairs in a more optimistic mood. Everything had seemed quiet, but obviously something had gone terribly wrong.

"What happened?" Veronica asked Roxton, her blue eyes full of worry about her friend.

Roxton turned an equally troubled gaze to the others. "She was having more of those intuitions of hers, I think, even when we were downstairs. Then Ned and I… um… sort of let her see that we weren't too keen on the idea of her finishing the dinner preparations…" Ned nodded with a wince as the other three looked uneasily at the meal set out on the table. "No need to worry," the nobleman sighed in answer to their unspoken question. "She didn't end up touching any of the food."

Finn heaved a sigh of relief. "Good, cuz I'm hungry!"

"That's not all of it," Ned confessed. "I… I made fun of her when she started to tell us something about those premonitions she's been having," his regret was obvious, "and now she won't talk about it, not even to Roxton."

Veronica looked at him in shocked dismay. "Oh, Ned, you didn't!"

He nodded miserably. "I tried to apologize, honest, but she's…" he hesitated.

"Hurt, and shutting us out."

Ned nodded unhappily again at Challenger's accurate summation.

The scientist looked at Roxton with a frown. "You know that people skills are not my strong suit, John, but we can't let Marguerite close herself off from us again."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm not sure how to fix this. She's pretty much in defensive lock down, George."

Finn eyed the food on the table hungrily, impatient with the continued talking. "Fixing Marguerite is easy. Are we gonna eat or not?" The men and Veronica looked at her in surprise. "What? Why do you guys keep looking at me like that today?" the youngest asked indignantly. "I know lots of stuff!"

"Yes, you do, my child," Challenger agreed, face breaking into a smile. "And you're quite right, we should eat. While we begin you can elaborate on how we are to - er - _fix_ Marguerite."

Finn settled herself at the table eagerly and rapidly filled her plate. "Two words," she said as the others began to join her, still looking a little bemused. "Slumber party."

Over in his discreet corner, Helmut Hoffner had to suppress his laughter as he heard the youngest blonde's "solution". He relaxed, pleased that his bit of success wasn't going to be disrupted after all. He wasn't sure what a slumber party was, but no party was going to stop him from carrying out his goals - or resolve the distance that now existed between the Black Widow and her companions. The German allowed himself to smirk as he watched them eat the meal and talk over their plan. Their voices were too low to hear exactly what they were plotting, and he didn't dare get any closer when both the hunters were part of the group.

Now that they were aware of intruders, the hunters might notice even the tiniest scratch of sound made by his fur-muffled boots as he moved. But he didn't need to hear whatever they were planning. It didn't matter. Let them eat and plan parties tonight. Tomorrow they would die.

*****

Marguerite jerked upright on her bed as Veronica and Finn burst into her chamber. "What do you think you're doing?!" she demanded. They were carrying pillows and blankets, which they spread on the floor by her bed without even pausing. "Hey, stop that! This is _my_ room!"

"Yes, we know. We're having a slumber party. We're sleeping over with you," Veronica replied casually, dropping onto her blankets gracefully. She grinned up at Marguerite in the moonlit room. "Finn says they did them all the time when she was a little kid, everyone in pajamas spending the night telling stories and playing games. I think it sounds like fun."

"Well, I don't! I already told you I wasn't interested in having you two in here tonight, so go away!" Marguerite huffed with a curled lip, green eyes beginning to glitter dangerously.

"Can't do that," Finn proclaimed cheerfully, dropping to her own blankets and plumping her pillow. "And it's not just the two of us. So what do you say? Who wants to start the first scary story?"

"Scary story? Not just the two of you? What are you talking about?" Crossly, Marguerite glared at each of them in turn.

Before Finn could answer, the curtain over Marguerite's door was pushed aside again as the three men trooped in, each stocking-footed and carrying his camp bedding and a pillow. "Are we late?" Ned asked, coming down into the room and deftly unfurling his bedroll across the floor at the foot of the bed. "Didn't start the scary stories yet, did you?"

"We're not that late," Roxton put in confidently, boldly meeting Marguerite's astonished gaze as he strolled directly to her bed, spread his own blanket right on top of hers, and tossed his pillow against the headboard on top of her own. He stepped over Finn and Veronica and clambered onto the mattress behind Marguerite. She twisted around to stare at him as he maneuvered until he was in position to lean against the headboard with his legs outstretched on either side of his increasingly outraged lady, making the rope supports squeak in protest at the double burden. He gave her a wink, which made her eyes flash in irritation at him before she jerked back around to glare at the others again. Roxton pulled her firmly against his chest before she could fire off any angry words at her uninvited roommates, startling her into forgetting what she had been going to say. Cheerfully he announced, "Okay, I'm comfortable. Who has the first story?"

"Oh, I have a splendid one!" George Challenger enthused as he meticulously laid out his bedding between the doorway and the other three bedrolls already positioned on the floor. He sat down on the blanket, and beamed at the others. "We're all here now, shall I begin?"

"Wait just one bloody minute!" Marguerite interrupted fiercely, pulling up off of Roxton's broad chest indignantly, slapping his hands away from her silk-clad midriff. "What the devil is going on?!"

"You don't think we're going to let you go through this without us, do you?" Ned asked her lightly, his blue eyes mischievous but good-natured. "I'm your brother, remember?"

"And you're the closest thing we've got to a sister, weird as you are," Finn added wryly with a smug grin as she met Marguerite's irate green glare. "It's not safe for you to be alone. So since you wouldn't come to us, we came to you. Simple," she shrugged airily.

"Yeah," Veronica nodded, her eyes twinkling up at Marguerite. "We're family. Family sticks together. Even," she paused long enough to cuff Ned's ear with a light swat, "if certain ones of us aren't too tactful some of the time."

"Hey, I already apologized to Marguerite! Quit hitting me!" he protested, hunching over and covering his stinging ear with one hand.

"Shut up, Ned," Marguerite's other visitors chorused in unison, and they all threw their pillows at the American - including George Challenger - with enthusiastic hoots of delight in their retribution on Marguerite's behalf. The brunette's jaw dropped at the sight of the pillows flying into Ned's face.

"Aw, come on, not my head!" came his muffled plaintive cry from beneath the mound of pillows. "Why is it always my head?!"

Marguerite couldn't help it; she started to smile - then scowled in irritation at being so easily swayed, folded her arms determinedly over her bosom, and glared at the ones who had dared to intrude on her sanctuary uninvited. This was ridiculously childish! She would _not_ be sucked in by this foolishness! Still, her interest was caught in spite of her intention to give them the cold shoulder they deserved.

Roxton was quiet this time, staying out of the ensuing mayhem and keeping his arms about his lady's slender, tense body. He watched with pleasure as Marguerite's strained expression gradually relaxed into genuine amusement while Veronica and Finn repeatedly tackled Ned to get their pillows back again. Challenger laughed, calling out encouraging instructions to first Ned and then the two girls, taking now one side and then the other as the young journalist valiantly tried to keep the pillows from being returned to his adversaries' arsenal. Challenger's 'neutrality' soon earned him the combined wrath of the combatants scrambling about Marguerite's floor, and the scientist was taken by surprise to suddenly find himself the victim of a new pillow attack.

When Roxton felt her chuckle at George's howl of protest, he drew Marguerite back against his chest again. Finding her unresisting this time, he whispered gently in her ear, "Better, my love?" She nodded, relaxing against his shoulder and letting her hands rest over his where they lay folded over her stomach. As she continued to watch the roughhousing of their companions, all the tension that had been clenching her abdomen into knots slowly eased, replaced with a warm fuzzy feeling that she was beginning to be familiar enough with to recognize.

Once the younger trio had won their pillows back from Challenger's surprisingly spirited defense, and had passed Roxton's pillow back over to him as well, Challenger called Marguerite's rowdy visitors to order. They settled down amidst subsiding chuckles, ready for their first scary story. Of course it was as much a lecture as it was frightening thriller. George chose to adapt one of his favorite pieces of fiction, H.G. Wells' _The War of the Worlds, _taking the liberty of adding in his own scientific data to fill out the details he had felt were lacking in the original fiction. His audience was not disposed to be critical, everyone except Marguerite enthusiastically applauding his version when he had finished. The lanky red-head took mock bows without rising from the floor, "Thank you, thank you," he acknowledged regally, prompting more laughter. "Roxton, I believe the baton passes to you from here," he decreed, unperturbed at his younger companions' amusement.

Keeping Marguerite safely ensconced in his arms, the British nobleman nodded and began. Roxton's thrilling story involved wild animals, of course - and was especially intriguing to Veronica since it was about a child raised alone in a jungle. John explained that the book had been written after her parents came to the plateau - in fact, barely four or five years before the Expedition had set out. Creatively authored by a man named Edgar Rice Burroughs, Roxton kept the huddled group spellbound with his retelling of the story about a boy named Tarzan who had been raised by apes and could understand the ways of the jungle animals. At the tale's conclusion he accepted their expressed pleasure in his narration with a boyish grin and reddened ears that made Marguerite's eyes soften fondly as she noticed his somewhat abashed shrugging off of their reactions. He quickly indicated that Veronica had to tell the next story, in order to turn their attention away from himself.

Veronica, because Roxton's story left her feeling rather sorry for the young man who had left his jungle only to return sadder and wiser about his fellow humans, rose and dramatically recited Edgar Allen Poe's _The Raven. _This poem gave Finn goose bumps with its eerily sad, grief-stricken tone of loss - and the men, too, though they didn't admit to the goose bumps as Finn did. Marguerite huddled back against Roxton in silence, not offering her opinion one way or another. To balance out the effect of her first presentation, Veronica gaily recited "_Eldorado_" with a merry twinkle in her blue eyes, knowing that just the title of Poe's lighter poem would remind her friends of their experience with the giant. It worked, considerably lightening the atmosphere and prompting a short and rather jumbled recounting of their adventure with the giant to a wide-eyed and skeptical Finn.

Thinking of Veronica's poems and their author prompted Ned to offer to relate a ghost story that had been written by another American author. The journalist explained that he'd had the opportunity of reading a pre-published draft of several new short stories just before they had set sail from England. When Ned had finished retelling his selection to the best of his recollection, he added to his awed listeners that it was his belief that Washington Irving's _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_ was destined to be one of literature's most enduring scary tales. Veronica and Finn liked it so well that they asked Ned to tell them another, so he narrated Irving's short tale about a sleepy man, called _Rip Van Winkle,_ that the enchanted group of explorers liked just as much as Ned's first offering.

Marguerite then offered to take a turn at storytelling, to everyone's quiet delight and satisfaction. She regaled them with a Sherlock Holmes mystery suspense episode that had Finn and Veronica ooh-ing and aah-ing at the way Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's sleuth was able to unravel clues so cleverly. The relish with which the former international jewel thief shared the details of the story, and the way her green eyes glowed with excitement as Holmes engaged in his battle of wits with the dastardly Moriarity, was a pleasure for the others to behold. She artfully added to her audience's enjoyment by inviting them to take guesses at solving the crime before Holmes could. All three men had read the stories before coming to the plateau, so they refrained from making any guesses, but Finn and Veronica entered into the spirit of the game and kept the others laughing at their wild speculations. When Marguerite finally revealed the 'truth' at the end of the story both of the younger women were chagrined that they had missed such 'obvious' clues.

Finn claimed her turn to spin a tale next, promising grandly "I saved the best for last!" and making them laugh indulgently. The slim blonde proceeded to totally raise her elders' hair on end with her retelling of an imaginative futuristic story about a battle between a man called Darth Vader and a boy named Luke Skywalker who fought not only with guns but also with sabers made of light beams. Their war took place among the stars of a galaxy far, far away, and was ultimately between the dark and light sides of a mystically powerful cosmic Force. When Finn detailed a fight that was set in a galactic barroom amongst aliens of various descriptions, her friends shifted uncomfortably in remembrance of more than one species of aliens they had met right here on the plateau. They exchanged uneasy glances more than once. Since Finn had only seen her story enacted when she'd been a small child, she didn't know who had created the story, but she felt certain that whoever it was must have once lived right here on the Plateau where anything could and did happen. The others were inclined to agree with her assertion.

"Isn't it interesting," Challenger remarked, sprawled on the floor atop his bedding and smothering a yawn as he spoke after the thoughtful silence that followed Finn's offering, "That each of us tells a story that reflects his own experiences? A scientifically-based adventure for me, tales that touch on the spirit world for Ned here, future fantasy from Finn, jungle haunts from Roxton, sleuthing for our triple agent there, and poetry - works of art, if you will - from our artist Veronica! Now if we could bring the authors of these various writings here, I wonder what they would make of our lost world?"

"Sir Arthur would love it," Marguerite said with absolute certainty. "He would be fascinated with everything about this place."

"Don't tell me you know him, too?" Roxton frowned, remembering her familiarity with Winston Churchill. He still wasn't completely sure how well she had known the man she had so easily and informally addressed as "Winnie". Despite her uncertain background, she had certainly moved in varied circles of society, including the highest and most exclusive ones.

"No, I've never met the man - he wouldn't know me from Veronica or Finn," Marguerite grinned, liking the hint of jealousy in the hunter's husky voice and patting his hand reassuringly. "But I have no doubt that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would find each of you three gentlemen right in character with all of his adventurous and brilliant heroes."

"Well, we could definitely use his Holmes," Challenger nodded with a sigh, recalling the current rash of attacks that were plaguing the group. "Perhaps Sherlock Holmes could reason out the answer to our current dilemma where I cannot."

Deciding it was safe to raise the topic, Roxton gave Marguerite's hand a gentle squeeze. "That man you were telling me about earlier… the one who you think may be the cause of your impression of danger being on the horizon?" He nodded toward Challenger and the others. "We're listening. Want to tell us about him now?"

For a moment Marguerite hesitated, stiffening instinctively.

Ned smiled up at her from his spot on the floor. "Yeah, you remember, the 'totally disgusting puffed up toad of a fellow' who always gave you the feeling that he was on the verge of insanity -" He knew he had managed to quote her earlier words almost verbatim. But this time Ned kept his tone carefully friendly and warm, avoiding any chance that she might misunderstand his intention of hearing her out with complete acceptance.

"Hoffner," Marguerite yielded the name quietly, still not entirely sure if she wanted to tell them about this. She tensed abruptly as she saw everyone except Veronica reacting to the name with a start of surprise. "What?!"

"_Helmut_ Hoffner?!" Challenger gaped at her. "It can't be - the odds of such a coincidence -"

"Never mind, George," Roxton said hurriedly, cutting off the lengthy discussion that was sure to follow a sentence begun like that by their often intensively detail-oriented friend. "Marguerite, Hoffner is a former scientific student of Challenger's -"

"A thoroughly disreputable fellow, not worthy of the title 'scientist'," Challenger inserted indignantly.

Ned explained, "Challenger had him kicked out of university, which effectively barred him from having his work sponsored by reputable schools. Earlier today Challenger recognized Hoffner's work in the methods used to sabotage the windmill. Where did you meet this guy, Marguerite?"

Eyes bright and alert now, the former spy replied promptly, "Hoffner was heading up that secret lab in Germany I told you about earlier - the one that was working on the nonflammable explosives." She frowned thoughtfully as she absorbed the new information about Hoffner's connection to Challenger, combining it with what she knew of the man. "This sabotage at the windmill - what makes you think it was him?"

George Challenger explained patiently about the wiring techniques that had been used, the way they had been wrapped being exclusive to only one person he had ever seen. "We had conjectured that it might simply be a student of his from a less scrupulous university on the continent, one who would have learned the wire wrapping technique from Hoffner. But with this additional information about his involvement developing these nonflammable explosives, I'd say there can be no doubt now that our nemesis _is_ Helmut Hoffner."

Marguerite nodded gravely.

"Did you sabotage his work as part of your spy job for that Winnie guy?" Finn asked with interest.

"Well,…" the brunette considered a moment, then admitted part of the truth. "Not exactly, but I might as well have - I copied his formula and gave it to Winnie - er, Churchill," she corrected herself as she felt John's arm tense around her at her use of the informal, familiar nickname. "England had the better resources, so we were able to finish perfecting the formula before Hoffner's team could complete his work, which led to his humiliation." Her friends didn't need to know that she had altered Hoffner's lab records to delay his research when she had realized how close Hoffner was to working out the final bugs from his process.

Challenger nodded in satisfaction. "Finest minds in the world, our British scientists." Then his face took on a startled aspect and he started to laugh. The others stared at him in confusion. He gestured at Ned. "How did you say it? A disgusting puffed up toad of a man who always seemed on the verge of insanity? That's a very apt description of Helmut Hoffner, very apt indeed!" he chuckled.

Ned shrugged. "The words were Marguerite's," he told them, disclaiming any credit for the description that had suddenly sunk in with George Challenger.

"So they were." The red-haired scientist frowned over at her, his humor evaporating as he mulled over the knowledge that Hoffner knew Marguerite. "He's a very vindictive man with quite a temper. Did he know that you copied his formula?" he asked her in concern. If Hoffner knew that it was Marguerite who had given his formulas to the British government, it would explain his wanting to save her to kill until last…

Marguerite shook her head. "Not that I'm aware," she replied hesitantly.

Feeling her tension, Roxton prompted gently, "But?"

Bracing herself to face more derision, she said flatly, "Hoffner fancied himself a ladies' man as well as a genius, and I had to encourage his delusions in that area to some extent in order to get close enough to copy the formula. It was also necessary to - be rather blunt with him when it came time to persuade him that I was not really interested in becoming his wife. Winnie had someone much more influential in mind for me to play that game with, and Hoffner… Well, he didn't want to accept my leaving when it was time for the next game." She avoided Ned's blue eyes, keenly recalling his teasing about madmen falling in love with her.

Fascinated, Finn breathed, "I gotta hear more about these 'games', Marguerite!"

"So you had to reject him pretty firmly?" Veronica asked gently.

"Harshly?" Roxton elaborated with a reassuring hug to his tense lady.

Marguerite nodded slowly, glancing at last toward Ned. This time there was no teasing from the blond American. The regret in his blue eyes was honest and heartfelt. She managed a tiny smile to let him know his unspoken apology was accepted, then turned her focus to Challenger again. "Once he was discredited and we parted ways, Hoffner did sort of follow me around for a while, but I haven't had any trouble with him since before the war. That's why it took me so long to identify that it was him - his presence - I was sensing. It's been years. How could he be - here?" she gestured around them.

Challenger shook his head. "It wouldn't be the first time we've run into others here on the Plateau who are directly related to our pasts. Helmut Hoffner has enough genuine scientific knowledge to be bloody dangerous."

Marguerite nodded gravely. "Yes, he does." She searched for Roxton's hand among the covers, then squeezed it tightly. As she recalled more detail about Hoffner she was realizing with an increasingly heavy fear that the German must have intended for Veronica, Finn, Roxton and Malone all to be dead by now, leaving Challenger and herself alone to face his vengeance. The booby traps, the damaged personal property, the rigged power supply, the ammunition replaced by blanks, the switched chemicals in the lab - everything bespoke a carefully orchestrated plan, exactly the kind of thing Hoffner would do. And there was bound to be more. She had downplayed the nuisance Hoffner had made of himself before the war, but she would have to give her friends - her family - more detail or they might be caught unprepared.

As her tension conveyed itself to him Roxton pressed a discreet kiss on the back of her head and said with forced lightness, "Well, now that we know he's here, we'll soon put a stop to his tricks. You'll need to describe him as best you can recall. Challenger?" he looked to the scientist first, redirecting everyone else's attention and giving Marguerite a chance to recover from the sudden trepidation he could tell she was experiencing.

He didn't like it when she shifted away from him, moving to the other end of the bed. He knew she was distancing herself from him because she was dwelling on Hoffner, who must surely be one of those demons from her past that she feared would hinder any future with him. At least this time she had sought comfort from him before her fear pulled her away from him. He kept a keen eye on her as Challenger responded to his request for information.

But the lean scientist was shrugging sheepishly. "I don't really know that I noticed much about the man other than his work and his outrageous ideas. He did have a good readable hand at writing reports - better than the average student." As they exchanged amused looks, he brightened. "He was blond-headed!" he remembered triumphantly. "And short!"

Marguerite spoke up, laughing. "That's true - from your height, George!" she teased. "He's a bit taller than our Neddy-boy, here, but not nearly as adorable." She reached over to ruffle Ned's already sleep-tousled hair affectionately, ignoring the muffled giggles from Veronica and Finn. Keeping her tone light, the former spy continued, "He had brown eyes, the palest brown you've ever seen, and he needed to wear spectacles because his vision in one eye was weak. But he's a strong man, as proud of his body as of his mind. His regular schedule included a program of daily exercises designed to maintain his strength. He was fond of bending metal rods, just to prove his ability to do so."

"When I knew him," she went on steadily, "he liked to primp in every mirror he passed. He was particularly proud of his mustache, and he was meticulously clean about his person. He was fluent in English, German, French, Italian, and Latin, of course. Hoffner was always fascinated with the minutest details about everything he saw, and he had a photographic memory. And he's very cunning. He delighted in finding ways to use innocent-seeming methods to do damage. I once saw…" she hesitated, her casual façade slipping enough for the others to realize the genuine distaste Marguerite felt for the man she was describing so coolly for their benefit. But it was only a second before her mask was restored and she went on, "Well, that's beside the point. Suffice it to say that we need to be very careful. As we've already seen, he is… dangerous."

Roxton cleared his throat, then shrugged his broad shoulders. "So, taller than Ned, shorter than George, blond-haired, brown-eyed, spectacled, strong, smart and nasty. Everyone got that?"

"Got it," Veronica nodded briskly, eyes lingering on her dark-haired friend in unspoken sympathy. It seemed there was no end to the ugly, hard things she had dealt with in her past.

"Can't be too hard to spot," Ned agreed absently, wondering just what it was that the unshakable Marguerite had witnessed this mad scientist do. Then he decided he probably didn't want to know.

"So why haven't we seen him?" Finn asked, puzzled. "I mean, where is this guy? With all the stuff he's managed to sabotage around here, how come we haven't caught even a glimpse of him? It's not like the guy could be invisible or something!"

"That, indeed, is our conundrum," George Challenger murmured thoughtfully. "We've seen no tracks, caught no sign of him anywhere. Let's sleep on that, shall we? We're going to need to be sharp-minded to deal with him. Good night, everyone." He stretched out on his blankets and closed his eyes, though the customary pucker would remain on his brow as he continued to mull over all that had happened until he actually drifted into slumber.

Veronica nodded. "I'll take first watch," she assured Roxton softly as everyone began to settle in. He sent her a grateful look, then gestured to his lady to rejoin him at the head of her bed. He was visibly relieved when she came willingly, though her green eyes were still shadowed with memories. The strong hunter drew Marguerite back into place against his chest. Veronica watched Marguerite turn to nestle in the safety of John's arms, and nodded to herself. She was almost as pleased as Roxton that by volunteering to take first watch she was giving Lord Roxton the time to offer the wary brunette shelter from her past.

Finn curled up on her bedroll beneath the window with a contented smile. Her slumber party plan had worked, just as she'd told the others it would. Marguerite was one of them again, relaxing perceptibly as she snuggled against Roxton while he closed his own eyes. Silly fellow would probably sleep sitting upright with the mysterious brunette in his arms like that for the rest of the night, rather than stretch out with her on the bed, just for propriety's sake! Finn had seen them go to sleep side by side on the hard ground while out on the trail, waking up to find that one or the other had sometime during the night subconsciously sought closer proximity. They just couldn't stay away from one another, even asleep. It always made Roxton and Marguerite red-faced to be discovered in one another's arms in the morning. So tonight the nobleman and his lady were enjoying the semi-legitimate excuse of this 'slumber party' to stay together, even though they were also being "circumspect". Watching the two of them was a never-ending source of amusement to the girl from the future where life and morals were much less restrictive.

As she heard the rasp of cloth moving against the plank flooring, Finn sneaked a peak toward the younger couple from beneath her fair lashes. Keeping an eye on Veronica and Malone was almost as much fun as watching the older pair, Finn thought with a suppressed grin. Ned was repositioning himself so that he lay within touch of his jungle beauty as she sat leaning against the bottom corner of Marguerite's bed. That placed him discreetly between the object of his devotion and the open doorway through which trouble would have to approach. That was the same thing George Challenger had done upon entering the room. Men from the past were certainly unfailingly chivalrous toward the women they adored, Finn mused, even when those women were fully capable of handling danger. She watched discreetly as Veronica smiled down at her 'knight' with an appreciative expression before he closed his blue eyes. Ned didn't actually reach out and touch Veronica, but his feelings were just as obvious as Roxton's.

Veronica took a quick look around at her friends' positions as the first watch of the night began. She noticed the smile lingering about Finn's lips and realized the youngest family member had seen Ned's protective behavior. Finn's smile widened as Vee flushed so obviously that her 'little sister' could see it even in the moonlight.

"Oh shut up and go to sleep," Veronica whispered tolerantly.

"Yes'm," Finn replied demurely, and relaxed beneath her blanket. Yeah, she had known the slumber party would be a good plan. Her mom had used this ploy to resolve differences between Finn and her friends back in the barely-remembered better days of her childhood. The resulting warm camaraderie had given her many happy memories to recall in later days, and Finn already knew she would have pleasant dreams tonight.

One by one the explorers nodded off to sleep while Veronica kept an eye on the moonlit room where they were safely together for the night.

*****

Challenger's eyes flew open and he jerked to an upright position, staring straight ahead. His sudden movement startled their current watchman, Roxton, into stiffening sharply in preparation for danger, which woke Marguerite. Her instant alertness upon sudden awakenings was still a source of surprise to her comrades, even after seeing it time and again over the past years. "What is it?" she whispered when a quick visual scan failed to produce a cause for Roxton's start of alarm. Roxton hugged her lightly, and nodded toward the older man now sitting on the floor, back ramrod straight as he scowled toward a perfectly unobjectionable wall - clearly not seeing the inanimate object, but something in his mind's eye that was troubling him.

Marguerite was so used to seeing George Challenger puzzling over his scientific mysteries that she had hardly paid any attention to his current posture. But when she followed Roxton's gaze back to their friend, she exchanged a concerned look with the hunter, then asked, "George? What's wrong?" She kept her voice quiet, having noted that Ned, Veronica and Finn were still sleeping.

The patriarch of the group focused slowly on the dark-haired couple; Roxton still leaning with his back against the bed's head board and Marguerite now sitting upright beside the alert hunter amidst the rumpled blankets of her bed. "When you have considered all the possible theories, what is left?" he asked in a low rumbling voice that hadn't quite awakened as soon as he had, still seeming half-distracted by his complex train of thought.

Marguerite shrugged. "The impossible," she answered without hesitation, her prompt understanding of his question earning a startled look from the handsome man who loved her. She ignored Roxton's raised brow; now was not the time to discuss her training in the more abstract principles. "If none of the known possible theories are valid or verifiable, then the next logical step is to consider a theory that has previously been considered to be impossible."

"Exactly," Challenger answered simply, with a short nod.

Marguerite stared at him attentively but he did not elaborate, having fallen back into deep thought. Lord John Roxton grinned as his lady heaved an exasperated sigh. "George!" she hissed insistently, then again, "_George!_" Amazing how this woman could shout without raising her voice above a whisper, he marveled. And it was so effective, too!

The thinker gave a start of surprise and refocused on his companions with a puzzled look. "What?"

"The impossible?" the brunette prompted with a huff of impatience. "What about it?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon!" he apologized automatically. "I was thinking of what Finn said last night - er- this morning, actually, before we went to sleep. You'll recall she was asking why we had seen no sign of Hoffner? He obviously has been into all our things, to be able to sabotage us so effectively, and we have the two best and sharpest hunters on the plateau living here. How has he eluded our observing his presence? I've been considering the possibilities."

Marguerite forgot her irritation with George as she became interested in his train of thought. "And?"

"It's impossible." Challenger said flatly. "There is no logical way that Hoffner could have eluded both Roxton and Veronica's skills in observation and tracking."

Marguerite snorted, and Roxton swallowed back an unwise chuckle at the exchange. "It can't be impossible, George, since he has obviously evaded both our defenses and our hunters, keen as their instincts may be!"

"Exactly!" he exclaimed again, in triumph that totally confused both Marguerite and Roxton. "All the rational possibilities have been explored quite thoroughly, I assure you," he vowed excitedly, voice rising as he explained his conclusion. "I've been thinking about this for some time now. He must have found a way to elude us that is not part of the normal range of possibilities! So we must think of the _impossibilities_, you see?"

Finn sat up, blinking sleepily. "You mean something like that he might be a ghost, like Malone was?" she asked, proving that she, too, had been thinking about explanations in the "impossible" range of ideas.

"Not a ghost, Finn, just trapped in the spirit world," Malone corrected her, joining the conversation as he sat up cross-legged beside Veronica as she, too, assumed an upright position. "You think this Hoffner could be part of the spirit world, Challenger?"

The scientist shook his head. "No. I did consider it, of course, but remember, Malone, that you still have a connection to the spirit world, particularly when a violent action is attached to an object."

Ned nodded gravely, his blue eyes pained as he remembered all too well the visions he'd endured after touching that knife of Jack the Ripper's. Veronica leaned over just enough to reassuringly bump his shoulder with her own. He smiled at her, then refocused on the older man as Challenger continued to explain his thinking to them.

"I don't believe that gift is gone, Malone, merely that we have not observed this ability in use again since that first occurrence. You have not had occasion to touch another object so closely associated with malevolence and death since then," Challenger frowned. "Though of course we haven't been able to test my theory about you retaining your spirit-world connection, not having come across another situation where - well," he pulled himself up short. Each of his younger housemates' faces had taken on the slightly glazed looks with which he was unfortunately all too familiar. He sighed.

This happened so often -! And always just when he was about to embark on his most interesting discussions! "The point is, you _have_ been in physical contact with things that Hoffner must have touched and used in order to set the ambushes and traps against us, but you have had no visions of him or his atrocities - of which I assure you, there were many, even in his student days!"

"Indeed," Marguerite intoned her confirmation dryly. "There's no doubt about that, at least. I think it would be safe to say that Hoffner's work could be ranked right up there with the Ripper." Then she noted, "So, assuming Challenger's premise is correct that Ned's connection to the spirit world still exists, then since Ned hasn't had any visions, impossibility number one is out - Hoffner isn't eluding detection because of being in the spirit world, according to the best scientific reasoning."

"Precisely," he nodded, pleased that at least Marguerite appeared to be following him, and had restated it so that the others could better grasp it - though they did still look somewhat at a loss.

"Are there other possible… impossibilities?" Roxton asked, a smile quirking his lips. They'd never believe this conversation back at home!

"Of course!"

Veronica spoke up dryly, "Could you skip the list, and just give us the one idea you've decided does fit our situation and that you think can't be ruled out?"

George looked at Veronica in surprised appreciation. She just might understand after all! "Well, as a matter of fact, there is one explanation that, crazy as it may seem at first, would provide an answer to this puzzle. The answer lies in Finn's words last night - er - this morning, before we went to sleep."

Finn's eyes widened. "_Me?_" she squeaked. "What'd I say?!"

Marguerite's green eyes narrowed speculatively. Then she grimaced. "Oh no, George, that's too much to believe!"

"Well, there would have to be a scientific explanation, naturally, one I'm sure will make it perfectly believable once we discover it." The scientist shook his head firmly and reiterated, "I'm afraid it is the only thing that seems logical in light of what we know."

"It's not logical at all!" Marguerite scoffed. "He would still leave footprints! Unless you think he's managed to make himself weightless as well!"

"What?" Roxton asked, tugging on Marguerite's arm to make her face him. "What's not logical?"

"I tell you, it's the _only_ answer!" Challenger insisted stubbornly.

Ned, who had been trying to remember exactly what Finn had said, looked up suddenly as he recalled the word for which he'd been looking. "Invisible?!" he gasped. "You think this Hoffner is invisible?!"

Veronica, Finn and Roxton's jaws dropped in blank astonishment.

Then Roxton said, voice carefully matter-of-fact, "Let me get this straight. You, George Edward Challenger, are saying that you believe this Hoffner bloke is like _The Invisible Man_? Are you sure your thinking isn't being influenced by our scary tales last night?"

George Challenger recoiled, offended at this slight to his thinking processes. "Of course not!"

Finn had been following the conversation earnestly. Now she offered, "I know how he could do it."

"How who could do what?" Veronica asked as they all looked at Finn.

"Our enemy, this Hoffner dude - how he can be hiding his footprints – I mean, if he's invisible, then how could we see him covering his tracks like you and Roxton have been teaching me to do?" Finn replied eagerly. "He could scatter a bit of dirt over any sign he had left, and we wouldn't be likely to notice a bit of blowing dust, would we? Or he could easily wait till our backs were turned and then sweep a branch over his trail. And if he's invisible, that would explain why Vee and I both woke up in the night but neither of us saw anything, the night before last. We must have sensed or felt him moving in our rooms, but we couldn't see him!"

Reluctantly, Marguerite admitted, "Now, that makes sense."

"And our search wouldn't show any signs of an intruder breaking in, because he probably rode the elevator right up with us," Ned pointed out as he started considering the idea as a possibility instead of just as fiction.

Roxton added thoughtfully, "I suppose he could do something to muffle his footsteps."

Veronica jumped to her feet, glowering fiercely as she began to pace around the small amount of floor space not occupied by blankets or one of her friends. "And he's here – maybe right here right now - in Marguerite's room – or somewhere else in our home! – endangering our lives, blowing up our treehouse, messing up all our things, and probably eating our food and drinking our water!" She stopped, hands fisted on her curvaceous hips, and glared first at Challenger and then at Lord John Roxton. "So how do we catch an invisible man?!"

The pleased expression that had grown on George Challenger's face as the others accepted his theory of the impossible being possible now faded abruptly, replaced by troubled uncertainty. He looked to Roxton. "I'm open to suggestions."

Roxton shrugged grimly. "This is a little out of my area of expertise, George. I can usually see what I'm hunting."

Finn looked intuitively to Marguerite, from whom she had come to expect expertise in unusual areas whenever none of the others seemed to be up to the challenge. Even Vee could sometimes be thrown for a loop, though she had faced the unusual on an almost daily basis living on this weird plateau all her life. But in Finn's admittedly brief acquaintance with the former master spy, nothing stymied the mysterious and resourceful Marguerite Krux. "Marguerite? How would you go about catching an invisible man?"

The brunette blinked – caught off guard not only by the question but by the realization that the others were also turning to look at her with the same expectancy as Finn. Much to her discomfort, she felt her face heating at this unlooked for confidence in her ability to handle diverse situations. Marguerite fought her first instinct, which was to throw up defensive walls as she usually did when dealing with uncomfortable emotions. Instead she twisted a little so she could meet John's tender gaze.

He waggled his brows at her, gave her a cocky grin, and dead-panned, "Yeah, Marguerite, do tell. After all, if you can seduce a giant, how hard can it be to snag an invisible man? Exactly how _would_ you go about catching an invisible man?"

Reassured by his familiar teasing – and the hand that caressed her back so gently and discreetly - Marguerite summoned an airy tone of voice and replied, "The same way you'd catch any other man, of course! After all, he's still a man," she added with a sly grin.

"Well, then," Veronica ordered briskly, "If that's all it takes let's set some traps of our own, and get this jerk out of our home!"

Finn jumped to her feet, smiling broadly. "Yeah! We're going Nemesis hunting!" She started for the door of Marguerite's bedroom with an eager bounce in her step and a grim determination on her young face.

"Easy, there, tiger," Roxton chuckled. "We do have to come up with some plans."

"I agree. Moreover, it's time we threw Hoffner a few curves of our own devising." George Challenger drawled with a glint in his eye. "He obviously took the time to get to know what would affect each of us, then used it against us. I have an idea how we can neutralize his previous planning. He's a man with a short temper. If we can throw him off course and shake up his plans…"

"He'll react in haste and make mistakes," Roxton nodded his approval.

"So what do you have in mind?" Ned asked, intrigued.

Challenger motioned the others to come closer. In quiet, conspiratorial tones, he began to outline his germinating idea. It didn't take long for the others to catch on and begin to add their own input. Even Veronica's grim expression eased to amused anticipation as they quickly formulated a plan to confuse and confound their unwelcome adversary.

*****

Hoffner paused in the doorway and watched them suspiciously. It had taken only moments after he awakened to realize that something had changed. The tense atmosphere he had worked so hard to create had completely dissipated. It wasn't that the explorers were laughing and totally at ease, but there was a clarity of purpose that had not been there yesterday.

They were no longer merely reacting to the situations he had set up to unsettle them - in fact, they didn't even appear to be looking for their intruder today. It was as if yesterday had never occurred.

Even worse was the fact that Marguerite Krux was once again working hand-in-glove with the others quite without reserve as they went about their tasks.

What could possibly have happened? And what the devil were they doing?!

He slipped quietly further out of the storage room he had been using as a bedroom since his arrival, and cautiously moved to the corner nearest the brunette and the journalist so he could listen to their conversation.

Marguerite was giving the blond American a congenial lecture about the origin of nomadic Arabic peoples as she meticulously dusted a shelf of books behind the table. Hoffner watched incredulously as the lovely brunette took one book off of the shelf and carefully ran the dust rag over its binding and pages, then set it back in its place and reached for another. Her movements were unhurried, as if she was enjoying the task and the company. Ned, while he listened attentively to her melodic voice, was polishing the silver set brought here by Veronica's mother so many years ago.

Strange. Since when did Marguerite Krux do housework as if it were a pleasure? And why would the American be polishing silver? That brat from the future had just polished it two days ago, grumbling all the while about wasting time maintaining something they didn't even use instead of being outdoors in the fresh air and sunshine. Silver didn't tarnish fast enough, even in this tropic heat, to need to be polished every other day. So why was Malone doing this unnecessary task?

And which one was that in the kitchen? Oh no, it couldn't be! Frowning, he padded softly onto the balcony close to the kitchen. George Challenger was the only inhabitant– and he was busily washing the dishes - and _humming?!_ Sleeves rolled up, an apron tied about his chest, up to his elbows in suds, the scientist looked quite domesticated - and happy about it!

Hoffner backed away scowling, more and more confused. He turned to look over the edge of the railing, searching the compound below for sign of the hunter and the jungle girls.

He spied Roxton first; the lean aristocrat appeared to be doing the laundry, scrubbing away vigorously at a shirt in a washtub that was set up on the table inside the electric fence. As the incredulous German watched, the British nobleman held up the shirt to examine it critically, gave a satisfied nod at its condition, and turned to pin it up on the line to dry. Then he selected another dirty shirt from the overflowing basket on the ground beside the table and thrust it into the wash tub with enthusiasm.

This was entirely ludicrous! Men of Roxton's station and hunting prowess did _not_ do the laundry!

A sound from the lower level caught Hoffner's attention. He moved to the rail overlooking the lab, giving wide margin to the Black Widow since she was once again glancing in his direction as if she knew he was there. Eerie. He shook of the feeling and checked the lab below him.

The invisible intruder's hands curled tightly around the rail in irritation at what he saw there. Finn was carefully measuring chemicals into a bowl and Veronica was brewing something in Challenger's test tubes, both very intently involved in their experiments.

This was impossible! Neither of those – _women!_ - had enough know-how to be working in that lab!

Every single one of the explorers was acting contrary to their usual behavior!

What were they up to?!

Challenger came out of the kitchen, whistling now, and picked up Finn's crossbow. "I'm going hunting now," he announced cheerfully. "Any requests for dinner?"

"I'll join you," Ned volunteered promptly, putting aside the polishing cloths and silver. "Maybe we could stop by the Zanga village for some extra vegetables and spices."

"Good idea," the tall redhead nodded. "Marguerite?"

"Oh, no thank you, George. I really want to keep the dust down," she demurred, barely looking away from the books she was meticulously cleaning.

Over the next couple hours Hoffner was hard pressed to keep an eye on what was happening. He had laid more traps for these distressingly fortunate companions of Challenger and Marguerite's, but the explorers broke all their regular patterns of behavior and thus avoided the deadly pitfalls he had prepared.

Moreover, they moved from chore to chore so quickly that he kept losing sight of one or more of the four who remained in the Treehouse, causing him some frantic and worrisome maneuvering to locate them again without giving away his presence.

Challenger and Ned were gone until after lunch, and returned without anything to show for their short hunting trip. They said they had decided to take a swim instead.

Hoffner cursed himself for not having followed them, realizing that he had allowed himself to be so distracted by the odd behavior of the others that he had given these two an opportunity to put into action some plot meant to catch their unknown foe. It must have been Challenger's idea, of course, this role playing mayhem!

How could his traps work if they refused to behave as they should?!

He ground his teeth in frustration, and glared venomously at the tall scientist who was casually washing off a piece of fruit before eating it. It had obviously been a tactical error not to deal a more severe blow to Challenger sooner. He would have to remedy that. Sooner or later, the scientist would not be able to delay going down to his lab. The explorers had to finish making that new batch of gunpowder. Without more gunpowder the group had no means of defense, since they couldn't rely on the fence now that Hoffner had sabotaged it.

As the day continued to progress, the watcher became more and more disgruntled. Time and again his traps were _almost_ triggered. These people had the most unbelievable luck! Or did they? Had Challenger somehow realized who his foe was, and knowing this, figured out how and where his former student might strike?! No, that was impossible! Wasn't it? Could Challenger and his companions have located the new booby traps and disarmed them while Hoffner had still been asleep this morning? Were they toying with him? It didn't seem logical… but then this plateau was not a place where logic reigned.

Hoffner grimly decided that he would have to check each of the new aggressive traps he had planned during the previous day and then set up while his targets had been enjoying their ridiculous slumber party. It was a good thing he had learned the value of patience during his long years of searching for Marguerite Krux. It seemed he was going to need all the patience he could muster in this battle of wits with his former teacher.

*****

Darkness had fallen over the plateau without any sign of the hoped-for mistake that would confirm and reveal Hoffner's presence among them. Following Challenger's general plan to avoid any of their usual activities had enabled them to make it through the day unscathed. Being extra cautious and alert during each thing they did had also been fruitful; Marguerite and Veronica had been successful at spotting several potentially dangerous traps prepared by their adversary. They had discreetly passed warnings to the others. It had been part of Challenger's plan that they should try to keep Hoffner from realizing his traps were pinpointed. Ned's contribution had been for them to come close enough to the planted booby traps to taunt Hoffner by raising his hopes only to dash them each time one of his prey escaped injury.

Finn had particularly enjoyed this game, delighting in finding reasons to move as close as possible to the trip wire that would have fired a long kitchen knife into her stomach from among the potted plants near the fireplace. Veronica had difficulty keeping a straight face as she watched Finn's antics, but Finn maintained a completely innocent expression the whole time she passed back and forth. She did the same thing with the booby trap Hoffner had laid in Ned's favorite place to sit while writing in his journals. Roxton had spotted the sun glinting off a wire where nothing should have glinted, and lingered there long enough for the others to take note of it as well. Finn casually strolled back and forth right beside that line without once varying her distance from it - mere centimeters. She would pretend she was going to take a seat there, only to veer off to see what someone else was doing or get a drink, or any one of a half dozen other excuses.

Unfortunately none of the near misses they engineered, or their other odd behavior, provoked any response that they could use against Hoffner; he did nothing that would betray his location. They were all working hard to maintain their attitudes of unconcern, but as evening descended and they finished the after-dinner clean up, they were all aware of the tension thickening again. Even Finn's exuberance was being strained by the waiting part of this deadly contest of endurance and will.

Marguerite watched the others without appearing to do so as she washed the dishes still in the wooden sink. Although she was not renowned for patience, she was much more fitted than any of the others - even her adorable hunter - to play the prolonged waiting game this was becoming. Hoffner had obviously learned at least a modicum of self-control since the last time he had crossed her path. The longer the distraction from other necessities of plateau life went on, the more likely it was that one of her friends would end up being injured - or worse. So Challenger's solution was no longer viable. Something would have to be done to bring Hoffner into the open, the sooner the better.

The best way would be to slip away from everyone's protective eye so that she could draw Hoffner away from the others. That didn't seem likely. She could feel either Roxton or Veronica's keen eyes watching her all the time. She wasn't sure whether it was because the two of them suspected that Hoffner might make an attempt on her life after all, instead of making her watch the others die first - or whether they expected her to try something self-sacrificial for the sake of her family. Heart-warming as their intentions might be, it was certainly cramping her style. But it wouldn't be the first time she'd had to outwit allies as well as foes.

It would have to be casual, so as not to alert either Hoffner or her friends. It would have to seem to fit in with Challenger's plan to do the out-of-ordinary…

She stopped as an idea came to her. Her eyes widened as she rapidly turned it over in her mind, carefully considering every aspect. Yes, that might possibly work! She paused a moment more, as she thought about what might happen if it didn't work. But she had little choice; she had to try.

Marguerite finished washing the last dish and handed it to Ned to dry, wiped her hands on her apron, and moved toward the shelves that held the clay canisters full of cooking ingredients. "John, will you get down the flour for me? I'm in the mood for a cake," she announced casually. "Think I'll bake one."

Marguerite's faithful beau stood stock still where he had been taking the dishes from Ned as the younger man dried them so he could place them on their shelves. Ned's suddenly nerveless fingers dropped the plate to the plank floor, where it shattered. Challenger swallowed his mouthful of coffee wrong and bent double coughing and gagging. Finn spun to stare, almost tripping the wire for real this time. Veronica blinked, grimacing as she envisioned Challenger insisting that since they had to do the opposite of all their regular activities they should eat whatever the culinarily-impaired brunette managed to bake.

Roxton turned slowly to face Marguerite and met her clear green eyes. "You're going to bake a cake? Now? Don't you think you should wait until morning?"

On the balcony, Hoffner watched this with narrowed eyes.

"No," she replied dryly. "I want cake tonight. Will you please get the canister down for me, John?"

Reluctantly, he moved toward the shelves to comply, unable to think of a valid reason not to oblige her. Wasn't it enough that Hoffner was trying to kill them? Did they have to face Marguerite's cooking as well? Then the shock began to fade, and his thinking cleared.

She must be up to something. He gave her a long searching look, which she met with a steady smile. Uh-oh, he couldn't read her at all! She was in bloody Parsifal mode! There wasn't much that he could do, other than to give her a glare of warning. He wouldn't stand for her endangering herself.

Marguerite's smile only widened. She indicated the canister at the very top of the shelves, which she knew had been placed there because it was too heavy for her to get down alone. She had never given any sign that she understood their reasoning about this, but it hadn't escaped her that this move ensured that she could never bake without someone here to help - which in turn gave her housemates a chance to guide her cooking and preserve their stomachs.

Veronica sprang into action as John reached up and got a good hold on the canister of flour. "Great idea! I'm in the mood for cake, too! I'll help!" She hurried into the kitchen area.

Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. "Me, too!" Finn volunteered, knowing from previous experience that it was safer if more than one person kept an eye on the otherwise capable Marguerite. She followed gracefully after Veronica. "What flavor cake are we gonna make?"

"Chocolate," Marguerite answered promptly, apparently not objecting at all to the rather transparent efforts to keep her from poisoning them all. "With lots of nice thick frosting."

"Gentlemen, may I suggest we leave the ladies to it?" Challenger suggested, still red-faced from choking on his coffee. "What say we play a little chess? I'll take on the two of you as a team."

"Hey!" Ned objected, kneeling to gather the shards of plate at his feet. "Roxton and I have improved plenty in the last three years! Why don't you try us one at a time tonight, and then the winner plays the next round with the third man."

"Well, if you want to bear the questionable distinction of losing without someone else with whom to share the blame, that's fine with me," came the blithe reply.

"Okay, George, now that's a declaration of war!" Roxton retorted, grinning widely over his shoulder as he hauled down the large canister of flour and thudded it onto the floor at Marguerite's feet. "I refuse to concede before the game even begins."

He took one more moment to give her another searching look. She looked quite innocent, meeting his gaze with a puzzled, inquiring look of her own. Perhaps his first assessment had been wrong? Was he being too suspicious of his lady? Maybe the stress of the day was making him imagine things.

Roxton bent his head and kissed Marguerite's cheek, whispering "Wish me luck!" Then he quickly abandoned the kitchen for the great room to help Challenger set up the chessboard.

Marguerite rolled her eyes and grinned at the other two women. "He has as much chance of beating George alone as I would have of baking an edible cake all by myself!"

"I heard that, Marguerite!" Roxton called from the other room. "Come on, Neddy-boy, I need moral support here!"

"Coming," Ned assured him, still chuckling at Marguerite's verbal thrust as he dumped the last of the broken plate pieces into the trash bin and hurried away from the impending disaster in the kitchen. Even with 'help' there was no guarantee that Marguerite wouldn't mess things up.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before there was smoke pouring out of the kitchen, in spite of the presence of both Veronica and Finn. "No, no, Marguerite!" Veronica gasped, "I said _don't_ do that!"

"My fault, I'm sorry," Marguerite responded promptly. "I'll dump it!" She rushed from the kitchen out to the balcony and tossed a smoking batch of cake mix over the side. When she turned back to the interior of their home, she glared at the smirking men. "What are you looking at, Challenger?" she rebuked sternly, zeroing in on the startled scientist. "Exactly who was it who drove us completely out of the treehouse for a week last month when an experiment went wrong?" she reminded pointedly on her way past them back to the kitchen.

George cleared his throat and put on a somber face, though his blue eyes still twinkled. "Of course, you're quite right, my dear."

There were a half dozen more nearly identical episodes before the three women were able to produce one complete cake mix to put into the oven. Marguerite apologized profusely each time, and was careful to dump her failures out on different sides of the treehouse - "So it doesn't become such a large lump that scavengers can't carry it off before morning," she explained with a self-deprecating grin. "The last thing we need is a stinky mess down there."

Veronica and Finn emerged from the kitchen weary and bedraggled, as covered with flour as Marguerite herself, but were able to nod reassuringly to the concerned men: the cake would be edible.

By the time the cake had finished baking Challenger had soundly defeated both Roxton and Malone several times over. Marguerite set the finished product in front of Lord Roxton with a pleased smile, placing the knife into his hand. Rightly taking that as an indication that he should cut and serve, he quickly sectioned the entire double layered cake into six hefty slices. Each slice almost completely filled the plates Veronica gave him. Amidst the general laughter he drawled "Well, I happen to like chocolate cake. If you want leftovers, next time ask Veronica to do the honors."

Eating the dessert proved to be a merry affair full of arguments about where each of the three men's chess strategy had succeeded or failed. It was a good respite from the pressures of the day, and Roxton decided that this must have been what his lady was up to all along. He looked up to watch her rise from the table with her plate in hand. "Hey, what are you doing? I'll eat the rest if you don't want it," he grinned as he noticed that most of her slice was intact.

She smiled, shaking her head and continuing to move away from the table. "I think you've had more than enough, John," she retorted dryly, to hoots and laughter from the others. She moved toward the balcony, then paused and turned thoughtfully. "You know, I don't think Hoffner is actually in the treehouse any more."

Hoffner's jaw dropped. He had been watching them, resentfully thinking how a piece of leftover cake would have been nice after they had all gone to sleep, fortifying him for another night's mischief to try to regain the upper hand, and that odious hunter had left nothing for him! Marguerite's sudden use of his name jerked him to alertness. He instantly realized the implications.

They knew he was their nemesis! They had discussed him!

No, how could they know?!

One look at the alarmed looks on her friends' faces confirmed it, though; they had all known that he was the one plaguing them, and they had successfully concealed that fact from him all day. Suddenly he felt vulnerable.

"Marguerite -!" Challenger began worriedly.

"No, I mean it. Hoffner never could manage to control himself. You yourself mentioned his temper, George. He couldn't possibly have remained quiet all day today, watching us miss every one of his traps, seeing us change all our activities," she shrugged.

Helmut Hoffner stiffened more. It _had_ been deliberate! They'd been mocking him!

The beautiful brunette he had once coveted as his wife went on: "I mean, the man was always a pompous blowhard. But he was nowhere near as smart as he made himself out to be, and he could never hold his tongue. He was always rattling on, making a fool of himself. There's no way he could be up here in the treehouse and remain silent. Besides, if he were really up here with us he would have overheard our conversation last night in my room. He would know that I was a spy for Churchill, and that I was the one who -" Marguerite could see realization of what she was doing dawning in her friends' worried eyes. Blithely she continued, "…tampered with his notes on the nonflammable explosives and gave his real research data to the Briti-"

With a howl of outrage Hoffner launched himself at the woman who had not only rejected his hand in marriage and shamed him with her public rejection, but apparently also ruined his career. He should have known! But he'd never once suspected that the Black Widow was behind the sudden roadblocks his research had faced, or the unforeseen advances the British had made into the same research. He tackled the slim brunette, one large hand closing about her throat and cutting off the accursed words that tore at his pride. Her cake plate fell from her hand, clattering on the floor unnoticed.

Roxton shot to his feet a fraction of a second ahead of the others as they saw Marguerite suddenly stagger under the invisible intruder's onslaught. Now the former MI5 major could see it all clearly. Marguerite had set herself up! The bloody woman had used the dessert to get all of her friends at the table, and then placed herself where none of them would be in the line of fire if their nemesis had a gun. Moreover, he realized as he watched Marguerite fall back under the impact of Helmut Hoffner's unseen weight, she had also planned it so that Roxton had a knife at his fingertips, and none of their friends between himself and their foe.

The hunter grasped the hilt of the knife, keen eye measuring distance while Marguerite was forced backward onto the balcony, unable to keep her balance and gasping for air, arms pinned to her sides. Lord Roxton didn't hesitate, knowing that their foe would kill her; he hurled the knife straight at her.

Another animalistic howl rent the air, but this time it was one of agony as the knife blade vanished. The handle stopped, dangling in midair only inches from Marguerite's breast. A dribble of red blood appeared and trickled down from the knife shaft, looking quite eerie as it appeared to hang in midair.

Marguerite got one arm free as Hoffner reached around to pull the knife from his back. But rather than trying to fight off her assailant, she shoved her hand into her skirt pocket, rapidly pulled it out again - and flung a handful of flour onto the crazed German who was still forcing her toward the rail.

Instantly her friends could see the outline of the man's body as the flour settled over his head and shoulders. Even with the knife wound in his back he maintained his choking hold on her throat, cursing and swearing in his native tongue as he shoved her against the balcony railing. He raised his flour-dusted fist and pummeled her increasingly limp body.

Veronica's own knives found their mark, one after another, with fearsome accuracy.

Hoffner cried out again in pain and rage, letting Marguerite go so he could turn and face the others. She slumped to her knees against the safety railing, sucking in deep gasps of breath. He pulled one of Veronica's knives from his shoulder and braced himself to face their advance on him. But crazed as he was, he took just one look at the grim-faced explorers now rapidly converging on him and knew he needed a diversion if he was to survive. Survival first - revenge later!

So he whirled, grasping Marguerite by one arm to pull her to her feet and jerking her up against his chest, the bloody knife to her already bruised throat. "Halt!" he shouted out.

It was effective.

Marguerite's friends all skidded to a stop, not wanting to risk Marguerite's life. "Let her go!" Roxton ground out.

"Do not be a fool, Lord Roxton," the predator's ghostly semi-flour-powdered face - complete with spectacles and a hint of a neatly trimmed mustache - held an ugly sneer. "What will I get in return?"

Challenger interrupted quickly. "You'll be the fool if you hurt her any more than you already have, Hoffner! You know we would kill you! You've lost! We know who you are and where you are, and you have no chance of exacting your retribution now. Give it up, man! You must realize that the only way to save your life is to let Marguerite go."

"You will only know where I am until I have washed off this flour! And no one gives orders to Helmut Hoffner!" he snarled, his grip on Marguerite tightening.

"Let me take him out, Challenger," Finn said coldly from one side. She had lifted and armed her crossbow, and now had it aimed right at the intruder's head. "He'll never know what hit him!"

Hoffner looked into her icy blue eyes and knew she meant it.

Well, if they were going to kill him it would not be before he had his revenge on Marguerite Krux - which would in turn give him victory over each of the others, for they would hold themselves responsible for her death.

Hoffner spun around and flung Marguerite over the balcony rail as if she were a rag doll.

"NO!" their unified shout of protest and horror was music to his ears.

In the confusion of movement that followed as everyone leapt forward onto the balcony, Hoffner darted around the curve of the balcony and out of sight. He hurriedly began to brush flour off himself as he listened to their cries of anguish and dismay.

Then he grinned smugly to himself. Challenger had been right. The way to save his own life had been to let Marguerite go. He pulled Veronica's second knife from the back of his leg, and tucked both knives into his pockets, where they promptly vanished, concealed by the invisible cloth. Once he made sure all this flour was off, he would be home free. His wounds would heal and his secret weapon would make him impervious to their attempts to find him before he could strike again.

Then his satisfaction vanished.

What was this?!

The voices behind him were suddenly excited, rejoicing!

"Marguerite!" Veronica was laughing! "I can't believe your luck!"

"Not luck; skill!" rasped a hoarse voice that made Hoffner blink in confusion. It couldn't be! "Now will you all please stop standing around gaping like a bunch of cod fish and _get me up from here_!"

It was Marguerite Krux, all right! Alive!

Better get rid of this flour, now, while they were still preoccupied with rescuing their comrade. Hoffner darted back into the treehouse and crossed the great room, headed for the privacy of the shower where he could clean up and collect supplies to doctor his wounds.

*****

Managing to help Marguerite back up onto the balcony had been easier said than done. She had been able to catch hold of one branch - or it had caught her - but she had broken her arm in the process of tumbling through the massive tree limbs. She couldn't climb either up or down.

Veronica had to use vines to descend onto the huge branch with the harness Roxton and Ned rigged while Challenger asked Finn to assist him setting up a winch. Only after they hauled Marguerite over the rail and back onto the balcony, and the tall hunter had taken her into his arms to hold her tightly, did they suspect that her pain was from more than just her arm. When Roxton's hug made her pass out, their healer quickly determined that Marguerite had most likely broken at least two ribs as well as her arm. "We'll have to do a more thorough exam before we tape her, John, to be sure she hasn't any internal injuries," Challenger decreed in concern.

John Roxton bleakly carried her to the table, which Finn cleared by the simple expedient of sweeping everything off onto the floor. He laid her carefully there, and stood beside her, still holding her hand.

Veronica, en route to collect bandages and splints, paused at Ned's side and nodded toward the worried hunter. "Can you distract him, Ned?"

The stalwart American nodded gravely. He put a hand on the stricken lord's bowed shoulder. "Roxton, we can't let Hoffner get away," he said firmly. "Not after what Marguerite went through to locate him for us."

That did the job admirably. The hunter nodded his dark head, his sense of purpose promptly restored. "Finn, you stay here to protect Challenger and Veronica while they help Marguerite," he ordered. "Ned, I need live ammunition. I'll stand guard while you're mixing up a batch of gunpowder."

"Right. We'll have to double-check the ingredients. Let's get going."

*****

Lord John Roxton slipped the bullets into the chambers of his Webley .45's as he mounted the stairs. "How is she, George?"

"Still unconscious. But the good news is that she doesn't appear to have any internal injuries, and her lungs sound clear," the patriarch of the group smiled grimly as he finished wrapping bandages around Marguerite's splinted arm. "She's going to be just fine."

"Good, because I'm going to kill her for this little stunt," her beau growled though he knew none of the others were fooled.

Veronica eased Marguerite's arm to rest on the table, then sighed and rolled her shoulders. Keeping the arm immobile while Challenger splinted it had been tiring. "How are we going to find Hoffner? He's had time enough to clean himself off."

Roxton indicated the floor. "Marguerite left us a trail," he said flatly.

The others followed his gaze to discover that flour had been scattered on the floor… here… and there, and there. And tracks were clearly visible on the floury floor. "Oh, she's good!" Ned murmured in appreciation, understanding dawning as Marguerite's housemates finally noticed what the hunter had seen as soon as his grim green eyes had scanned the room when he came up from the lab.

Each time Marguerite had tossed a ruined batch of cake mess out it had only been a ploy to cover her real activity; she had drizzled flour across the floor at every possible exit or entrance from the great room. Everyone had been so concerned - or in Hoffner's case, amused - at her culinary disasters that no one had noticed the discreet dusting she'd left behind on the floor at these strategic points. The trick was classic misdirection, and it had fooled them all until now - including Hoffner.

They knew one another's tracks well, so it wasn't hard to spot the unknown tracks where Hoffner had come in from the balcony - and where he had continued to leave a trail of bits of flour now on his furry boots as he passed through the great room. It was easy to follow his movement from there all the way to the lower level storage room.

Although they were quiet to try to take him by surprise, with the flour cleaned off him Hoffner was unseen and able to act first when they followed his trail into the supply room. He forced his way past them, trying to make another break away from them.

But in his haste he forgot about the booby traps he had set for his prey.

Dodging their pursuit, he ducked into Roxton's room. He had planned to break the Black Widow's heart by eliminating her handsome hunter… but the explosion that took out half the lord's bedroom floor killed Helmut Hoffner instead. What was left of the German was easy to see scattered on the walls and all the way down to the ground.

*****

"Did you find your answers yet in that journal that was in his belongings, George?" Ned asked as he and Finn came upstairs to fetch a drink.

It had been two days since Hoffner's violent death. A great deal had been accomplished. Along with taking turns sitting at Marguerite's bedside, they had located and dismantled the rest of Hoffner's booby traps, made permanent repairs to the electric fence and the junction boxes, and generally cleaned up the remnants of Hoffner's brief tyranny over their lives.

After a lot of backbreaking labor, and thanks to some help from the Zanga to speedily gather raw materials, Ned and Roxton were nearly finished replacing the floor beams and planks that had been ruined in the blast. Finn had been working with them, painting a sealant on the fresh wood to retard aging and, Vee had explained, to prevent bug infestations.

Veronica had discovered Hoffner's backpack by tripping over the still-invisible pack in the supply closet while getting cleaning materials. Challenger had been busy analyzing the contents, as well as making sure all of his lab supplies were once again correctly labeled. He had also taken care of replacing all of the blank bullets.

Now he looked up in response to Ned's question. "Most curious, most curious," he frowned, his blue eyes full of speculation. "These journals he kept say that he discovered an unusual substance near the edge of the plateau only a couple days after he ascended. He walked right into something he could not see. He did some rudimentary tests and realized light was being reflected off this rock formation, somehow bending it to make it appear as if it was not there at all! Now _that_ is a substance it would be fascinating to find! How unfortunate that his map-making leaves so much to be desired!"

Finn poured a glass of water and handed it to Ned. "But how did he get invisible?"

"This material he found bonds with other substances once rubbed in. Apparently all he had to do was coat it onto his clothing, boots, and person. The bonding happens almost instantly, and then - the light is reflected and he's invisible. He used his glasses to conceal his eyes, which of course could not be coated. He enabled himself to continue seeing through his glasses by making pinprick-sized holes in his lenses. He really did have a fine mind, if only he had not chosen to misuse it! Marguerite was quite right about his use of his cunning to do evil with innocent seeming things. This journal is simply full of accounts detailing how he used his new invisibility while he was searching for us." The scientist's voice was full of outraged disgust. "Such a perversion of science!"

"You're sure we can't find his original source of this stuff?" Ned asked. "I mean, if we could find that, then we should be able to search nearby to find the way off the plateau, right?"

Challenger shook his head ruefully. "No, he intended to be certain he would be the only one who could ever benefit from this substance To that end he ripped out his journal pages describing his ascent, then deliberately did not record geographic details in the rest of his journal. So we have no way at all to retrace his steps to the source of that reflective mixture."

Veronica came up the stairs. "Looks like the work on Roxton's room is almost finished," she noted approvingly to Ned and Finn.

"I thought you were sitting with Marguerite," Finn took a sip of water from her glass.

"I've been relieved of duty," Veronica laughed.

"Is she awake yet?" Ned asked hopefully.

"No," Veronica's ready smile faded. "And I must admit I'm getting concerned."

Challenger shook his head as he noticed her inquisitive look toward him. "Nothing to worry about. Rest is the body's natural restorative, especially after the fever that she developed yesterday morning. She'll wake soon, and I'm sure -"

A sudden yelp of pain from below made them all tense. They exchanged startled, alarmed looks and dashed for the stairs as the sounds of an obvious argument began. They could hear Marguerite shouting furiously, and Roxton protesting defensively… she was accusing him of something about kisses and chemistry and getting married. There were several crashes amidst John's cajoling attempts to reason with her, and more crashes punctuating Marguerite's angry tirade. By the time the four friends neared the doorway to Marguerite's room Lord Roxton was exiting rather hastily, wearing a harried look and nursing a reddened jaw. "I wouldn't go in there right now, she's in a pretty bad mood," he ruefully warned the others, raising a hand to halt their progress. "She belted me!" he added incredulously.

"What happened?!" Challenger frowned.

"You won't believe it," the British nobleman declared, torn between bemusement and indignation. "She had a bad dream! She seems to think that on some other plane of reality I'm an actornamed Will, and she's an actress named Rachel. She says that even though I know her and work with her, I married someone else! Now I ask you, how is a man supposed to defend himself against a bloody _dream_?! I don't even _know_ a woman named Kim!" He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation, then winced and rolled his shoulders. "Fell into the shelves while dodging a bloody shoe," he muttered as he noticed their puzzled looks of inquiry.

His friends struggled not to laugh.

George Challenger cleared his throat, then managed to say fairly steadily, "Well, the positive news is she's awake. And since there can't possibly be as many things close enough to her bed for her to throw as we heard flying about in there, she must also be ambulatory, which means she's healing just fine!" He clapped the younger man on the back heartily, then chuckled at the baleful glare he received in reply. "Oh, just go on back in there, John! I have every confidence in your ability to win the day!"

Lord John Richard Roxton rubbed his sore jaw once more, then nodded briskly. "You're right, George!" He straightened his broad shoulders and marched back through Marguerite's doorway.

"Two days' chores and three turns milking that goat says that she boots him back out again!" Finn whispered, extending her hand across in front of Veronica towards the men.

"Done!" Challenger agreed promptly, his blue eyes dancing merrily as he shook Finn's hand. "I say he'll have her eating out of the palm of his hand!"

"I can't believe you two are betting about Roxton and Marguerite like that!" Veronica grinned, amused.

"Not betting - practicing statistical analysis," Challenger retorted.

"Yeah," Finn agreed. "But I say the odds are in her favor today, Challenger."

"Shush!" Ned whispered, grinning himself as they eavesdropped. "Listen!"

Marguerite had been perched on the edge of her bed, head hanging, her unsplinted arm wrapped around her aching ribs. But when she heard John entering her room and approaching again she raised a tear-streaked face to glare at him and reached for the last item she had grabbed before his hasty exodus from her chamber, a book lying on the mattress beside her. "I told you to get out of here!"

"Now, Marguerite, be reasonable!" Roxton coaxed earnestly, easily dodging the slim volume of poetry as it flew past his head. "You can't blame me for something that was only a dream! You're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up!" he warned, pausing in concern as he took in the pain she couldn't conceal.

She sniffled and glared balefully at him. "As if you would care!"

"Marguerite," he reproved tenderly. "You know better." He took another cautious step toward her.

"Don't you come near me!" she yelped, and tried to get up. She'd already overexerted herself during her first tirade against her handsome beau after she had awakened from her disturbingly detailed dream. Her attempted movement now was too sudden and sharp. When she fell back with a groan he was instantly at her side, gently taking her in his arms and moving her to the proper place on her bed. He lay her down carefully and lovingly tucked her beneath the single blanket. Then he smoothed back her unruly dark hair as she let out a tremulous sigh.

"Better?"

"Yes. Thank you." She was quiet a minute, then asked hesitantly, "Did we get him?"

Roxton nodded. "Yeah. You were brilliant," he praised her generously, still stroking her hair. "Hoffner is dead. But _you_, young lady, are in our black books for endangering yourself like that!"

Marguerite gave him a faint smile. "I wouldn't have tried it if I hadn't known I could count on all of you to protect me," she replied simply, much to the delight of her listening friends. Then she slowly raised her hand to touch John's bruised jaw. "I'm sorry I hit you, John. The dream… it seemed so… real."

He gave a low chuckle. "I know how you can make it up to me," he teased.

Marguerite's lips curved upwards in a sultry smile. "Do tell, Lord Roxton," she invited coyly.

As the silence in the room lengthened, the rest of the family outside Marguerite's door exchanged grins. "So who's the winner?" Veronica whispered as George Challenger indicated that they should give the dark-haired couple their privacy now. The foursome turned away and headed back upstairs.

Ned gave Veronica a charming smile, linking his arm with hers. "Oh, I think this time, we all win."

Finn grunted. "That's easy for you to say. I still have to milk that dumb goat!"

Her elders quickly smothered their laughter. "I'll do it for you, Finn," Ned volunteered lightly as they reached the top of the stairs.

The young blonde brightened. "You will? Aw, thanks, Ned!" She gave him an enthusiastic hug.

He shrugged, ears reddening as she dashed off to have another drink of water before she went back to painting the new floor in Roxton's bedroom.

Then Ned found himself breathless as Veronica rose on tiptoe and planted a soft kiss directly on his startled lips. He blinked and lifted his hand to touch his mouth. "What was that for?" he asked.

"For being you, of course," Veronica replied, grinning mischievously. "I'm going to start dinner now. With Marguerite awake, I think some soup and fruit will be appropriate for tonight."

Blinking away the daze, Ned quickly followed her.

Challenger smiled to himself and picked up Hoffner's journal from the floor where he had dropped it before running to see what was amiss downstairs.

Odd to think that only a few years ago they had been virtually total strangers to one another. They had certainly never suspected what they would really find on this plateau, and the odds they would each overcome in order to discover who they truly were and what was really important in life.

He tapped one finger absently on Hoffner's journal as he proceeded to his desk, still lost in remembrance of the past. Then he drew his own journal from the drawer and opened it to begin today's entry. There was time before dinner.

He picked up his quill and began to write. "_My dearest Jessie, today our family is whole again…_"

*****


End file.
